Critical Hit! It's Massively Effective!
by Maxxus Herald
Summary: A series of horrible decisions leads to one inexplicable reality shift. At least, I think that's what happened. My entire world's been flipped upside down due to getting genderbent by Cerberus, so it's a little difficult to tell what's what anymore. ... I need a hug. Warning: Tinted with Angst and Insanity for a while. [Self-Insert, Genderbending, F!Shep, M!Shep]
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Why, oh why am I starting a new fic?**

**Because I'm an Idea person. That's why. Gotta get my Ideas down before they leave me. Also, I found some free time and didn't quite like how I started "For Laser Beams and Explosions," so I jumped over here. I figured a Self-Insert would be easier, so... why not?**

**Turns out, it is. Please note that I lie about my age and the recent events in my SI's life, as he is a sideways offshoot of myself. Also, I find this whole ordeal to be interesting.**

**Disclaimer: Do not own Mass Effect and whatnot. Disclaimed, foo.**

* * *

"Critical Hit! Massively Effective!"

Chapter: 001

Self-Inserts and Crossovers: How my Life Turned into a Fanfiction

Pain. Pain pain pain pain pain! ... Yep. Pain. In the head, no less. What is this pain? I don't know, but it hurts. Sort of like something painful. ... Er, not real informative, I know. It's painful enough to keep me from identifying what kind of pain it was. For anyone who hasn't ever felt like that, I say they should count their blessings again, for it seems they missed some small miracles.

Through the lids of my eyes, I can tell it is light out. Or the lights are on. Either or. I groan as I slowly wake and try to sit up, wondering if I'd been hit by a truck or drank too much due to the breakup.

Oh god, the breakup. I immediately flop back down. Friggin' hell, The breakup. I cover my eyes by draping my arm over them, trying to not think about how bad I screwed up. Just... damn it all! The Breakup! I let my arm fall away and roll on my side, trying to not think about... my breasts?

I freeze. Since when did I have breasts? I sit up quickly, and quickly realize that head pains don't like it when you sit up quickly. I fall back down, my mind quickly forgetting my heartbreak and remembering my nigh infinite head pain. ... with a hint of agony. Yep. Can't have a proper Dish of Doom without a side of agony and a heaping helping of Pain. ... Er, I'm getting off topic. Wait, no I'm not. Cause I'm in pain, and that is more important than boobs.

What am I saying? Boobs are awesome. There is little more important than breasts. I'd say sex and the genitalia required for them, but those rate about the same priority as breasts. Know who has awesome breasts? My... girlfriend. EX-girlfriend.

"Fuck!" I shout in frustration, not really caring who heard me. No, it was more like... I didn't remember to check the area for listeners, since I thought I was in bed at home.

Guess what? I wasn't.

I opened my eyes, finally, to take in the scary sight and sterile smell of a hospital room. For patients, not the waiting room. Oh, how I wished it was the waiting room. White was everywhere, along with space-age level shiny on the metal... damn near everything that wasn't white. I hear some hurried footsteps, and I realize I probably called the people who work here with my little... erm, exclaimation.

I look around and take the the area a little more, terribly confused... and get an eyefull of the Cord-Hilsop Aerospace insignia. The symbol of Cerberus from the Mass Effect series. I'm shocked still for a moment as that processes. I go over it slowly in my mind. Once, twice, three times... but I come to the same conclusion. _I'm in a Cerberus lab._

I know what happens to people in Cerberus labs.

A labcoat wearing Cerberus goon rushes through the door, eager to 'check my condition.' Pervy old man. I can _smell_ the lust just rolling off of him. ... Which is odd, since I couldn't do that before. In fact, that's really creepy.

The greasy haired geezer walks to the foot of the bed, watching me with those.. those nasty eyes! "I'm a nice looking guy, I know, but could you not look at me like that. Makes me want to rip out your teeth and feed them too you," I say tensely, my jaw three steps away from clenched. He just stands there, hunched over in what seems to be a permanent slouch with his long, greasy, black hair tied back into a long ponytail.

Then he does something disgusting. More so than his sickly white skin, unclipped nails, greasy hair, and bad smell. More gross and horrifying than the Cerberus logo on the wall or the name tag that read 'Dr. Hojo' on his labcoat. Not that I thought much _could_ be creepier or more horrifying than getting experimented on by the Final Fantasy villian who somehow made it to Mass Effect. Unfortunately for me, there was, and he is doing it _right now._

His smile... his smile is terrifying. Not because it radiated confidence and dominance and demented, smug genius... but because it told me he had already altered me. My face pales upon this realization, causing the mad scientist to smile wider.

"... Why?" I manage to whisper, emotion shaking me violently. I... what? Just... why? Why me? I don't understand. I clench my jaw, shutting my eyes tightly so I don't have to look at him. I don't want to be here. I want to go home. I... I can't be here! I'm just a normal guy going to college and generally failing at life. I shouldn't be here at all!

I hear him chuckle. I can't stand it. "Why me? How did you even do this- this- Whatever it is you did!" I shout, my face oddly void of all the rage, confusion, and fear in my voice.

Then he laughs. It's short and condescending, and makes me want to punch him in the nads and puke at the same time. It was quickly leaning toward the latter, as my head pain hadn't yet faded. "What, you ask? I'll tell you!" he exclaims proudly, then proceeds to rattle off in excitement.

"I have successfully spliced into your DNA the better attributes of the galaxy's sentient species. The regeneration and redundant systems from the Krogan. The reaction time and mental capability from the Salarians. The natural biotics and nerve control from the Asari. The sharper eyesight from the Turians. The specialized muscular structure from the Batarians. The perfect memory from the Drell, and the Quarian immune system's adaptiveness to prevent it all from being completely incompatable. Finally, numerous applications of the Vorcha's nondifferentiated neoblast cells to keep everything together, and to allow a natural means for further modification."

I... That's what he did to me? I... ... Well, I understand the alure of that. Whoever got that treatment would be one hell of a soldier. Hell, I'd jump at that kind of augmentation, provided the death count during development was less than one. He shrugs and shakes his head. "There were a few setbacks, such as Asari DNA being completely incompatable with the male genome and the differences between levo and dextro proteins, but I've manage to make it... no, make _you._"

His gaze gains a maniac glint, and I can smell his lust again. I think he may _actually_ be having a nerdgasm, but I'm not sure. "Some smaller aspects should include heightened sense of smell, the same neural attuning abilities of the Asari, and the ability to reproduce in the same manner as any of the spliced-in species."

_Yep, he's having a nerdgasm all right. While thinking of knocking me up, the ass!_ I mentally roar. My vision turns to various shades of red, my body seemingly lighting on fire with rage. I can see a light emenating from me and remember that I'm a biotic now... So I put him in Stasis. The Mass Effect 3 version, so he could still talk.

My face contorted with rage, I barely restrain my desire to kill him so I can grind out the words I want to speak. "Where am I. How did you get me. Why me. How many died for this. Tell. **NOW.**"

Apparently I scare him enough to cut his usual bull. Fear evident on his face, he stutters through the answers I want. "You're in a Classified Cerberus Lab! You were found unconscous on the surface of Tepion. We only found you because we were already there and detected some odd energy readings, I swear! The only reason we used you is because your genetic adaptiveness is higher than normal humans! No deaths, The Illusive Man wanted not a single one!"

I try to calm myself. He's probably lying, but I can't find- No, it'd just become more difficult to get information if I smash him. After a few minutes(?) of waiting, the rage lessens and the red fades from my vision. My statis wears of moments later.

_How did I do that?_ I wonder. The stasis... okay, well I suppose I'm a biotic that doesn't need to make the gestures. I don't know. I just sort of imagined it happening, so it happened. The rage was definitely a Krogan Bloodrage. Even now, just sitting here, my body feels hot with a pointed desire to smash something.

Unfortunately, doing both of those with my untrained body was a bad idea. The pain in my head spiked to new levels, and I promply passed out.

* * *

I will not go into the details of my first encounter with the medical staff when I woke up, because it was long and I really don't think it was that important. Oh sure, it was entertaining and filled with swear words, attempts of violence (on my part), attempts of placation (on their part), and a whole lot of me asking where my manly bits went. In the end, I was sedated until I wouldn't cause so much trouble.

I will also not got into the details of my next encounter with them upon waking up again, because it was long and monotonous. Lots of medical terms that I didn't understand and couldn't even pronounce. I could barely understand their explainations of what exactly has been done to my body. Some of it still doesn't make sense.

Like how Batarian muscles are both more powerful due to muscle density and due to how they are formed, organized, and structured. The former I get, the latter I don't understand the specifics of or how that would work in any capacity. Apparently the Krogan regeneration thing means my muscles won't deteriorate, and I somehow have a second of every organ save my brain packed into this leggy 5'7" body. I am also have a pair of nanite producing glands that I don't fully understand either, but I'm told that it'll be like having Solid Snake's codex.

Supposedly they link together in my body to mask my unusual DNA and extra organs, in addition to being a super-quantum computer of awesome that has my omnitool and biotic amp stuff installed in it. I don't understand the specifics of how they got it all to work _and_ make me into a girl _smaller_ than I was before, but they did.

My new measurements and appearance? Height is 5 foot 7 inches, weight is now classified because I say so. My build is long and slender, with plenty of lithe muscle that's much stronger than it seems. My body's age was reduced to 17 somehow, though I think it was a combo of Krogen regen and some of the other species' short life-spans. My face is mostly the same, except for that it's now cute and feminine.

Thankfully, my hair is still black, straight, soft, and lusterous, even though it was cut to look like a generic citadel citizen do. My brown, brown eyes are still dark chocolate colored, though I'm certain my pupils are somehow... different. In color, not shape.

My breasts are a nice B size and my ass is still amazing, thank you. Althought, I suppose I should thank the doctor that I'm so hot. Seriously, I could probably give Miranda Lawson a run for her money in the 'geneticly engineered for perfection' contest. I'd win though, for sure. _I'm just too asian to lose. For China, bitch!_ I silently made that joke when I was checking myself out in the mirror, my single dimple showing on the left side of my lopsided grin.

I was given clothes, though they were really basic. As in 'basic uniform,' because that's what I was given to wear. I was also given a spartan room (B-134-504) with only a bed, closet, and nightstand. Oh, I have my own closet and bathroom, so that's nice.

I was taken to the mess hall afterward so I could get some food and drink in me. Frankly, the fact that there's a mess hall at all scares me. I mean, you don't have a mess hall in small, unimportant locations. No, this here was a full-blow Cerberus project. What was the objective, though?

Turns out, it was me. They wanted a super-soldier, a black cat to bring misfortune on the enemies of the three-headed guard dog of Hades. So they made me, who had the least inherited and manual genetic tampering they'd ever seen (see: None), the primary subject. After I ate, I was taken to a wide and empty room to begin my biotics training. That was a mere twelve and a half hours ago, two for my introductory training, half for crawling back to my room, and eight for sleeping like a recently dead zombie.

As I lay here in bed with the alarm clock blaring in my ear, I realize that things are only going to get harder from here on out. Still, I can't help but notice out ironic it is.

I also have a thing for magic systems. Like in Dungeons and Dragons, or in any number of video games and fantasy novels. "Can I combine this with that? Would it be difficult to use the same type of mystic energy and level of power with this method? Of these two spells that achieve the same effect, such as making a 20ft radius fireball, which is more efficient? In what ways, and why? What would be the simplest way to give a sword a lightning enchantment? The cheapest? The most reliable? The most powerful? Does Ice magic work by displacing heat, or by changing the thermal energy into something else? Does it completely bypass the 2nd law of thermodynamics, and, if so, does it make the spell more advanced, or just more dangerous?"

... Yeah, I'm a nerd. Majorly so. I loves my magic, yes indeedy-do. I like my sci-fi stories, but I love my magical ones. Although, magic isn't always necessary for magic, if you know what I mean. Wink wink nudge nudge.

My point is, after finding out that I've been flung into the Mass Effect universe, I realize I probably will never get the chance to cast a fireball. Oh sure, I could use the thing in the Omni-tool from Mass Effect 2 onward, but it's just not the same. I love my magic... but ended up in the Mass Effect universe somehow. Friggin'... I want to know who manages that kind of thing, really. Is it God? Satan? The Force?

Well, y'know what? _I don't know._ I'd be happy if I knew. I'd probably tell everyone I could possibly trust all about it. I like to do that. I'm an exposition-type, who loves to go through everything story related. I like explainations, I like understanding, I like knowledge and systems. On the flip side, I'm not so big on faith or trust. So, at this moment, when I have so many unknowns and unknowables, I think I'll what I usually do. Throw up my hands and say screw it.

Thinking about it now, I did this with my sexual preferences and sexual identity, too. It's just easier that way. The heart wants what the heart wants, right? If I fall in love, then that's that.

Unfortunately, that lead to The Breakup, since I made the mistake of falling for both the girl I was dating and my childhood best friend. My best friend was a guy, and that didn't help the whole affair at all.

So yeah. I am understandibly distressed. Yesterday, I lost my legal manhood of 2 years, lost my girlfriend of 5 years, lost my best friend of 12 years, lost my home, life, and family of oh.. just _my entire life._

If I ever explain this to anyone, I risk of being labeled a sociopath or a psychopath. I could tell them them the revised version of course, now that I think of it. _Family and home colony got destroyed by batarian slavers in the past year, and I only survived by virtue of not being there. Joined up with Best Friend and Girlfriend on the Citadel. Didn't bother with papers and stuff due to being lazy and not wanting to deal with anything while my heart recovered. Oh, and I'll claim I have a sexual identity issue to cover slip ups when I speak._

I chuckle lightly, my tenor-turned-soprano voice sounding foreign in my ears. It was so odd... I actually had plans laid out for if I ever got 'Self-Inserted,' but none of them covered being genderbent. I mean, I have this situation of being enhanced, trained, and enlisted by Cerberus planned for, but... this? No, never.

My senses, all of them, are more sensitive. They say that women can see and smell a wider range of colors and scents. Well, now that my eyes have been enhanced with Turian DNA and my nose with Krogan, it's so wide that I'm still building resistance to it all. It's stunning, really. I just... Maybe I notice more, but it dazes me whenever I run into new places. An information overload, and thats just two of five. I know this isn't the norm, but it's still somewhat ridiculus.

_... I'm taking too much time to analyze my own mind. I should get up and get ready for training._ So, yeah. As I prepare for the day, (in the bathroom, where someone was kind enough to leave me the female necessities. Not going there) I take some time to think about my plans.

I found out I'm (biologically) 17, and the year is 2170. I'm a year older than Shepard, then. Miranda is about 20 now, and likely part of Cerberus somewhere. Jack is approximately 5, and I don't remember Kaidan's birthday. Never liked him much. Reminds me of Scott Summers AKA Cyclops from the X-men, except Kaidan's not nearly as bad. He's less of a stick in the mud and more of a jealous idiot. Neither to the degree of Mr. One-Eyed-Douche, which makes him tolerable.

Anyway, Good news is that I have time to prepare for the Reaper invasion, since it's going to happen no matter what I do. My reading of many self-insert fanfictions helped to affirm this, as I can now say with certainty that all fiction is real in another reality. I better get with the program, or we're all dead. And when I say 'all,' I of course mean 'me.'

I mean, really though... I have a goldmine of information and training, right here. Even if there isn't reason for me to have it, I'd like to use it. I need to take also care of myself, and that means staying on semi-friendly relations with Cerberus until Mass Effect 2 ends.

Bad news is that I have to deal with Cerberus at all. That and go to war. War sucks. I can tell from how veterans come back with missing limbs, or destroyed eardrums, eyes, or noses. Even worse is having to see their detroyed hopes, dreams, and hearts. I remeber how books written by people who survived, not just the war time but the neighborhoods and streets that became battlefields, would be filled with how _horrible_ it could be. I had and have no desire for war.

... I don't know how I got here, and I don't know if I'll ever get back. Chances are I never will. It hurts right now to think of such things, but I'll be all right eventually. This is my new life, whether I like it or not.

Like it or not, this is my world now. I will not let the Reapers take it from me. Nor will Cerberus.

Even if I have to kill them all myself.

... I look in the mirror, now dressed and ready for the day. Scanning my form, I can't help but marvel at the new level of detail I perceive. I turn to leave for the mess, smirking confidently while a nigh omniversal truth reinforces itself in my mind.

_Breasts... are awesome._

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**Author Note: Why did I have to end talking about breasts? Well, I was reading Highschool DxD recently, and...**

**and if you've ever read it, you'll immediately know what I mean. If not, tough it out if you want to keep reading, I suppose. The SI is, like myself, a pervert on the inside. Then again, acknowledging the awesomeness that are breast should not be considered perverted, as they are natural and awesome and naturally awesome.**

**Yes.**

**Anywho, Read, Review, and try not to die while reading my stuff. I appreciate anyone pointing out grammar or spelling errors to me, and critisim is welcomed. Flamers and trolls will be ignored since I can't shoot them over the internet.**

**... That is all.**

**-Maxxus Herald**

**P.S.: Next Chapter of "This Merry Ol' Mercenary Band" is almost completed.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Yeah... for anyone still waiting on a chapter for "This Merry Ol' Mercenary Band," I apologize. Kinda... forgot. Got distracted. ^.^;;**

**Anywho, I hope everyone likes this chapter. ****If you don't... I will poke you. With my mind. Which is full of ninjas. Cyborg Ninjas. From Space.**

**Kidding. ... Sorta.**

**But yeah, when you finish, please don't forget to Review. Tell me what your likes, dislikes. Comments, concerns, and pointing out of spelling/punctuation errors are encouraged.**

**I'd like to take a moment to give a "Thank Youu~~~~!" to Mockingbird79, the writer of "Massive Shock!", for beta-reading. Thank Youu~~~~! ^.^**

**Okay, I think that's it for now. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Mass Effect in this reality.**

**... That is all.**

**-Maxxus Herald**

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"Critical Hit! Massively Effective!"

Chapter: 002

Note to Self: People Die When They're Killed

Five years. That's how long I've been training as hard as I could. For five years, I've been training my mind and body and biotics to the point of ridiculousness. I've learned as much as possible in these last five years. I've gathered an incredible amount of intel on Cerberus, as well. Relatively, anyway. The security is surprisingly tight, even for those on the inside.

I scan my surroundings again, but the shuttle bay is as empty as it was before. _Makes me want some background music. Too bad we can't stream radio over the extranet here. We're so far out of the way that we have to take a shuttle to a fueling station to get on another shuttle to a frigate so we can to the nearest mass relay. Then it's three full jumps, complete with intersystem FTL travel in-between, before we even hit the most out of the way colony. Really, it's so inconvenient..._

Anyway, I've spent five years training and today... today is my first mission. I'm a little nervous, but... No, 'but' nothing. I will see this through. I've spent five years thinking, researching, training, and plotting for one greater goal. Over all else, I want to change the Crucible so it will only target the Reapers in the Destroy ending. Shepard deserves to live. So does EDI, and the Geth. Call me selfish, but I don't want to give up any one of them.

"I will do everything in my power to prevent the deaths of my squadmates," I whisper, clenching my fist to my chest with my head down. _And now that I said I'll do it, I'll do it. That's all there is to it. That's just how it is._

Sitting on this cargo box while waiting for my partner sucks, though. Good for meditation and thinking, bad for keeping my ass- rear. Keeping my rear from falling asleep. I need to tone down the swearing. The shuttle is prepped for launch, and I'm sitting here. Waiting. Just... waiting. I hate this waiting. I hate Cerberus too, and I know this mission is probably going to go against everything I know and love... but I need to be on the inside for now. _If I can just make it a few more years-_

I get broken from my thoughts by the sound of light footsteps. Judging from the sound of them, they belong to someone light, female, likely in light armor and three to four inch heels. I decide I better take a look, just in case I'm about to get stabbed. I lift my head to see...

"Hello, Miss Kei Cheung," says one Miranda Lawson, in all her curvaceous glory. Of course, this isn't my real name she's calling me, but I really didn't feel comfortable with giving Cerberus my real name. Just in case I had actually time travelled instead of reality hopped.

The genetically perfect woman is wearing her suit from Mass Effect 2, and a pistol sitting in plain view on her hip. In her hands is a datapad that she fiddles with for a moment before addressing me. Ever the professional, she introduces herself with cool confidence. "I am Operative Miranda Lawson. You will be under my instruction for the duration of this mission."

To which I wittily reply, "Hot damn!" Of course, I don't think that will leave a good first impression, so I quickly follow up with an enthusiastic smile. "About time! What's the mission?"

See? Better, especially since I managed to keep my eyes on her face and not on her cleavage. _Or her hips. Or her legs. Or-_

Anyway, I'd rather she think I'm impatient than a pervert. That isn't to say I'm not a pervert, but I'd like to keep my pants on outside the bedroom. There is a time and place for everything.

She raises her eyebrow at me. _Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?_ I wonder, almost missing her nod toward the shuttle so we could start. Although, not telling me what it is we're doing until we're in the shuttle sounds a little fishy. I'm probably not going to like this job. At all.

Once we were in the shuttle, we sat in a(n) (un)comfortable silence for a full five minutes and forty nine seconds before I asked for mission details again.

I'd like to think I'm not impatient, dispite my counting of the seconds.

Miranda levels her gaze at me, her eyes analyzing my every movement. It seems she doesn't trust me. Considering the traitorous nature of most Cerberus employees, this seems only natural. In fact, I should probably start doing that too. "A small group of Eclipse mercenaries found what we believe to be a Prothean artifact in the Attican Traverse. Cerberus wants that artifact."

I sigh in exasperation. "Which means we're killing them all and stealing it, right?" _First day on the job and I'm going to be soaking my hands in blood. Great._

"No, _you_ will be killing them all and reclaiming it. I will be operations control," she tells me, picking up the datapad. She taps it a few times, then hands it to me. "Consider this a test. Look over the schematics of their hideout, then take them out however you see fit."

As I look over the 'area map,' I can't help but notice how detailed it is. I take a moment more to make sure I've memorized it, which isn't hard with my now perfect memory, then give my 'instructor' the best deadpan expression I can muster. "Wow... Scoped everything out already, huh? This really is just a babysitting mission for you, iddnit?"

Our favorite Cerberus Cheerleader just smiles. "I'm glad you noticed."

With that, I can only hang my head and sigh.

* * *

The rest of the ride was made in silence. Well, most of it. There really wasn't anything I wanted to say. Not yet. Not to her. So I decided to go over my combat capablities. Mentally, of course.

As far as weapon use goes, I'm only really trained in pistols right now. Sure, I can do some sniping and I have some experience with shotguns, but I don't think I'm skilled enough yet to use the either in the field. It's my personal preference to not use weapons I haven't trained with extensively. From what I could tell of the vid recordings of the First Contact War, this 'game of life and death' is set on hardcore, maybe insanity. Target assist is non-existent, so I'll only be hitting with weapons I'm proficient with anyway. Handling a weapon I'm not familar with will only get me killed, I have no illusions about that.

In close quarters, I'm very skilled unarmed. I went the 'History's Strongest Disciple Kenichi' route and have hellishly trained my body every day. Super strength? Check. Super Speed? Not just yet, but I'm working on it. I'm also fairly skilled with most melee weapons. Archaic or not, I've been physically enhanced, no... augmented to be strong. I might as well make sure I can use it. I've taken the liberty to make sure I'm skilled with a katana and warhammer, as well. The latter is due to a project I have going. See, I want to make a gravity hammer, like in Halo. I've trained with close replicas until now, but I've kept it low key. Don't want Cerberus to figure out what tech I've got developing in the wings.

On the topic of tech, I've been working on making a MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armor, also known as the Spartan Armor, by hacking into company databases on experimental powered exoskeletal armor and using my now perfect memory to recall the features of the powersuit. I've been working on it by myself the past five years, and I believe I almost have a Mark IV armor. Of course, that version doesn't have energy shields, so I'll have to settle with Kinetic Barriers for now. Not to mention that I've had to scale the size down to fit my body. Plans are to make it a medium armor, so it doesn't hinder my movements too much. Since it's a power suit designed for enhancing my strength and speed, it'd be a shame if I couldn't use it due to it lowering my martial arts ability. I like the idea of being a futuristic super-soldier ninja.

Now that I bring up ninja, I've managed to 'procure' a tactical cloaking system for it and have plans to integrate it into the Mark VI or Mark VII armor. Currently, there are issues in the Reactive Metal Liquid Crystal Layer and, surprisingly, the adapting of the Mass Effect medigel application to replace Biofoam. The fusion reactor strapped to my back could also be trouble, but enough safeguards are in place that it shouldn't detonate without the proper code.

Only I know that code, although I don't dare even think it. Not even subconsciously, just in case an asari or ardat-yakshi get in my head at some point. I do the same with my plans for the future and the details of my sciences, just in case. I wrap it up tight. Who knows who else got tranferred to this universe? I know 'self-inserting' can happen since it happened to me, and apparently it can still end up as a fanfiction for someone to read somewhere or somewhen. Masses to Masses, Mass Vexations, Massive Shock, Cause and Mass Effect, Welcome to the Family, Stuck in a World of Fiction... I know most of their adventures up to, at least, the Eden Prime mission, but what if it was an evil person? What if they figured out how to make some world ending superweapon because of something I let slip? No, I can't have that on my conscience.

_Back to my combat analysis._ I'm a decent hacker, and I get better all the time. My Overload and Sabotage are pretty basic, since I've mostly been working on my armor and weapons instead of my omni-tool systems. I've looked around, and they aren't really my thing. Yet. I'll give it a few more years. I like the Incinerate and Cryoblast, despite their current weakness, so I've integrated those into my Omni-tool's hotkeys.

The First Aid programs are useful, though, so I've tweaked those quite a bit. I don't particularly care for dying, so most of my focus has been on defensive, stealth, and medical developments/training. With that in mind, I tried to put the Tactical Cloak into my Omni-tool as well, but it won't work due to system incompatibility.

My biotics are odd. I've trained extensively with them, but I can't seem to extend my mass effect fields past five feet. It's rather annoying. The Stasis I pulled can only happen when I'm Raging, and I still need to wave my arms like an idiot when I'm not. I studied it, but I can't seem to find the connection between my Bloodrage and my biotics. It's unfortunate, but it's not pressing.

I took the time to learn Barrier, Throw, Warp, and Lift anyway, since they're the basics. I've built upon them recently, and I have figured out a way to perform a wall cling, or even walk upside down. The M35 Mako can make the jumps, climbs, and drops it does due to its vertically aligned mass effect fields. One night I got to thinking, "What if I used something similar to cling to walls?"

After a lot of training, I've managed to make it so that I can effectively change the direction that I get pulled by gravity by doing two things. One, by using mass effect fields to change the direction of my 'weight.' Two, by using a powerful mass increasing field on a surface that I am touching, thereby increasing it's own gravitational pull. I can do this to either anchor myself in place, or walk, run, even sprint along walls and ceilings. _There's really no feeling like a ninja feeling._

Of course, I'm certain anyone who's read the Codex on Asari Huntresses already knows this kind of thing is possible. My method might be different, though, as I can't use any other biotic powers while this is up. I have to anchor myself in place if I want to fire my gun, since recoil would knock me off otherwise. I can't get shot or hit for much the same reason.

The greatest weakness of it is that it's difficult to change speeds. I can't go from anchored to sprinting at a drop of a hat, though I can do the opposite with some discomfort. The transition would be too fast and I'd end up with either too little pull to stick, or too much pull and be forced to strain my legs just to move them. Well, I haven't spoken with any asari since I arrived five years ago, so it's a little difficult to know for sure if their method is any better.

Speaking of what I know for sure, there are a lot of video games that simply don't exist here for some reason or another. Mass Effect for obvious reasons, but Halo, Metroid, Star Wars, Warhammer and the like simply don't exist. Star Trek and Doctor Who are around, but most of the media of the Sci-fi genres of my age are just... gone. A lot of games of all genres don't exist either, since it seems the industry started failing about 2019. That isn't to say it disappeared, far from it. It just launched in a different direction in this universe. There are plenty of parallels to games we had in my... my old home, but most games didn't live past World War III.

That's another thing that I never heard about in the Mass Effect canon. The timeline just sort of... skips from Earth Year 2000 CE to 2069 CE, and the entry in 2000 CE is to document when the drell and hanar make first contact with each other. I don't know whether this is due to this being some alternate universe of the canonical Mass Effect universe or if this is what really happened, but it is still important information for me to know.

Apparently, the USA's efforts to bring safe diplomacy to the Islamic Middle East worked, and all units were recalled in the winter of 2032. It was... unexpected. To me it seemed like the USA was merely using the 'War on Terror' and whatever came after it as a way to keep up the military developments and whatnot that had been going since World War I. I mean... from an economic standpoint, a war creates jobs. For the gunsmiths, for the factory workers, for the military men and women who would be needed. World War I, World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Cold War, Persian Gulf War... that's literally one century of war. To suddenly have a warless peace would cut a lot of US jobs, and that's not even counting potential demilitarization. I don't condone war, but...

Well, WWIII began due to the new Egyptian Leader's influence in March of 2038. No one knows quite how or when he did it, but the man we now only as 'The Pharaoh' united all the Middle Eastern Islamic nations under his banner and attacked Israel without warning. It was a massive and well-planned assault that had Israel taken over within mere hours. From there, they claimed and fortified the surrounding area in their new name. I still cannot speak or read Arabic, so the name is completely lost on me. I, like many others, call them the Corrupt Islamic Power.

The name was coined by a Canadian Muslim journalist, who could not understand why his people would commit such an atrocity as war. The Crusades that the Christians waged one thousand years prior were proof enough that holy war was not the answer, weren't they? It was from this man's paper that the motives of the Islamic Power where originally deduced: they were waging Holy War upon the world. With that kind of declaration the war only got worse.

Everything, even Nuclear Weapons, were used between the surprisingly tenacious Islamic Power and the Allied Forces. In the 10 short years of the third world war, more war crimes were committed than in any other war or ten year period in human history. It took Hitler's regime, upgraded it to version 3.56.2 and added 17 DLC packs. I actively and passively block such information from my mind, since I cannot think about it and still function. The horrors mankind inflicted upon itself due to religion were, in some ways, worse than the nightmare factory that are the Reapers.

It finally came to a head November of 2045, when a world-wide mass EMP bombing was launched by the Islamic Power, who were finally being pushed out of India and back into their land of origin. By this time, there was plenty of military technology that required electronic assistance, not to mention civilian life.

The effects were devastating. Most databases of the world were destroyed, and many things with circuitry were rendered useless. Military computers and most hospital records survived, but microwaves and refrigerators simply didn't work. Heaters and air conditioners, ovens and cars and personal computers. Millions died from the ensuing starvation, riots, cut-throat thieves and crazed survivors. Needless to say, it was a bad time. Many thought it was the end of the world. In a way, I suppose it was.

The world as I knew it was almost completely wiped out. Many of the things and places I loved, and the stories that accompanied them... Gone. Just... gone. Never to return. I looked up pictures of modern Indiana, and it... it's just so different. Downtown Indianapolis? None of the old brick buildings, filled with a history I'd never know but always wonder about, are standing. The land the courthouse was on, where I followed my attourney father through the tall halls and listened to the echo of my shoes on the decorative stone floor, had a burger joint built on it. It... was a sad day when I found that out.

When the war finally ended in 2048, one of the earliest things to pass through the UN were reconstruction plans. By 2063, life had been almost restored to its former state, but the huge slums were a new addition to that still recovering Earth. A lot of things happened after that as well, including the Armstrong Outpost being formally founded on Luna on July 20th of 2069 for the 100th anniversary of the first lunar landing.

In any case, worldwide EMP drops are why most video games never made it to the future, and most people don't remember them since they were made so long ago. The only reason so many old vid references are made is because some family of media buffs had a copy of damn near everything in an underground bunker made for preserving their movies, TV shows, VHS tapes, DVDs, Blueray discs, etc.

With that in mind, I started the Runecraft Gaming Company about seven months after my sudden reality shift. In secret from Cerberus, of course. In the past five years, I've gained a surprising amount of revenue just recreating games of all genres for current platforms. I do feel like a bit of a cheat... but that's fine with me. I'm a friggin space ninja now. If I'm not cheating, I'm not really trying.

Well, I _will_ be a space ninja, once I've properly got my gear in order. For now I'll settle for being a space Seto Kaiba. I've been secretly doing R&D for my tech with the money I've been making, but it's going slower than I'd like. It's faster than if I had no idea what was doing or if I had to funnel Cerberus resources, but it still may not be enough. The Reapers show in 2186 if everything goes as it does in the games, and I'd like to bring as many guns to bare on them as possible. Even if I have to make the guns myself.

Admittedly, I'm pretty sure they know I'm up to something. I don't know how much they know of what I know, but I'm willing to bet they know I know they know more than I want them to know. Hrm, that's a rather... convoluted statement.

... I got off topic again. Okay, so my Spartan armor and my personal weapons are currently in development, so I'm using something of lesser quality in the meantime. Considering my vast wealth, my current armor is currently the best money can buy, modded to my liking. Not that I actually payed for it, since Cerberus was willing to foot the bill. So, I have a Medium Mercenary Armor VIII, made by Ariake Technologies. I, being the survival oriented person that I am, have tweaked the shit out of the shields. Though I haven't done any extensive testing, it should function far better than it was manufactured to.

Why this armor in particular? Well, because it's more common and they currently label it as their best. Considering how the High Explosive I grenade mod is considered 'experimental tech' as of the Eden Prime attack yet still gets overshadowed by High Explosive X near the end of the game, I think it's safe to say that technology evolves pretty quick.

Then again, the guy who gave it to Shepard was just a dock worker. Who knows how accurate his information was?

Point is, I've got more than decent shielding, good damage resistance, and fair hardening. With my well-practiced biotic Barrier and a well programmed medigel distrobution system, I should significantly reduce my chances of dying. My pistol is a Cerberus Skunkworks Harpy VII, capable of about 18.5 shots before overheating, with a solid accuracy rating of 87, and the gun deals a little more damage than a Raikou X per shot. The gun itself is an advanced directed particle weapon, giving it excellent innate shield penetration while appearing to be nothing more than a phasic ammo mod.

Yeah, it was somewhat surprising to see the numerical stats from in-game on my gun's label. I mean, I really didn't expect that at all. I don't know for certain, but I think it might have something to do with council regulations since it's printed in really small type. I haven't checked yet. Might be for advertising, but I doubt it. The accuracy rating is a little difficult to gauge and means something a little different for different types of weapons, so most people just ignore it and test it at the shooting range. Not a bad idea, since one's weapon of choice should feel right in its wielder's hand. Anyway, it was a nice surprise.

Most of my combat is close quarters due to my strange range limitations with my biotics and my underdeveloped weapon skills. Admittedly, I focused on close range combat so the fault is mostly mine. I'm training with snipers, but I'm only decent. I can't deal with the recoil of automatic weapons yet, and, unfortunately, I just can't use any of the present day shotguns because they don't have stocks. I simply can't. All the shotguns I was trained with in my previous home had stocks, and I just... can't allow myself to use a shotgun with no stock. It doesn't feel right at all. Maybe if I used it like powerful pistol with a long barrel... but no, that wouldn't work very well. In a video game or a movie it might, but not so much in real life.

Well, as real as a video game that turned out to be an alternate reality can be, anyway.

I came to the realization long ago that my life might now be a fanfiction in another universe, or maybe even in my home universe. It's been one of the few things keeping me sane and distrustful of Cerberus, as I should be, since I can regularly outline my activities in my head for any potential readers. It's kind of like talking to the voices in my head, except instead of voices I'm 'writing' to people who may or may not exist. Not that there's much of a difference. Still, it's best not to get too close to them. Cerberus, that is.

In other news, I've re-learned how to sing, since I sang tenor and baritone when I was male. I had hoped I wouldn't have to, but it wasn't so. My throat is entirely different now, and feels it. My range of pitch, inner mouth shape, tongue flexibility, and familiarity with my own mouth for strong diction were all off. My lungs and shoulder width had changed, so my breathing and posture were out of line. All these things combined made for a 'dying cat clinging to the chalkboard as it falls' type of sound when I first tried. Well, that's what it sounded like to me.

Still... I love to sing. It helps pass the time when I simply can't do anything. Like right now. I can't train because there isn't enough room in the shuttle, and using my biotics would be bad since I don't have any targets yet, not to mention I have to use the somatic components when I'm not Raging. I'm already familiar with the odd controls of my omni-tool and have triple checked my **everything**. Rather, all my gear. _Let the world fade away into music... and sing._

"~Rama lama lama-lama-lama ding dong, Rama lama lama-lama-lama ding~"

Miranda's face became complicated with confusion, shock, exasperation, and wonder as I sing a soprano solo of 'Rama Lama Ding Dong' by The Edsels. The original version, released in 1958, is a super oldie by now, and can sometimes be heard in deep space from our old radio programs that wanted to 'teach aliens the meaning of music.' Seeing as I actually like most of that music, it'll make for a great prank on Joker once I get up on the Normandy. Yeah, I plan to be there. I have other plans in case I don't make it, though.

With the music now playing in my head, since perfect memory is perfect for mental radio, I really can't help but get up and dance. Do I look like an idiot? Yes. But as one Commander Shepard paragon'ed to Joker in Mass Effect 3, "I think you have more important things to worry about than looking stupid."

Which is true. I have to worry about potentially dying or being stabbed in the back every day. However, I'd like to sing and dance before that. Unfortunately for me, I happen to see Miranda's amused face. _Gah... I really have to know what she's smirking about now._ So I come to a stop and ask her what's so interesting.

"You, apparently. You're playing music with the nanites in your body," she claims.

I freeze, then go over the memory of me singing again and find that she is correct. _That's... amazing! I can play music with my body! Ha! Art! If you're reading this, I just solved your problem of going through life with no incidental music playing in the background! Hahahahahaa~!_

Man, I need to figure out what I can play like this. Can I alter my voice? I probably can. Then I'll have to learn to properly lipsync. Boom! I can probably sound like a turian if I do that, ha! Oh, or if I use my own voice...

_I could speak with my old voice._ I think, slightly stunned from the revelation. My own voice. If it weren't for my perfect memory, which is really nice to have, I'd have forgotten the sound of male me long ago. My lips pull up into my lopsided grin and my eyes light up with joy and thanks.

"... Miranda, I had no idea you held that much interest in my body." Er... Whoops. Seems like my inner thoughts came out. Rather, it seems I switched what I wanted to say and what thoughts I wanted to keep to myself again...

I laugh sheepishly. "Sorry, sorry. Couldn't resist. Really though, thank you. I have some ideas for this ability that I think could be... fun~" I purposely widen my grin and pull my lips back some to show more of my teeth, letting my eyes open further so I could give off a slight maniac vibe. And.. it works, judging from the twitching of her hand toward her gun. It's small, but I got her.

I close my eyes and pull my lips together, as if to whistle. Raising my head a little and straightening my back, I inhale sharp but slow. I raise my arms, then snap my hands over my face to cover it, overlapping my palms toward me with my fingers splayed. I hold my breath... one-and-two-and-three-and- I turn my hands downward before lowering them, my exhale slow, even, and without letting out all my breath. As my hands reach my lower ribs and the 'full' sound of my breath stops... I snap my eyes open and smirk, letting the music play.

"Are... are those Kazoos?" Miss Lawson couldn't help being so out of sorts, I know. That's why I did it. Just to see her face when she's thinking 'WTF?', I play that one cover by the Mystery Guitar Man. The one that was done solely with Kazoos. If anyone ever gets this, add /watch?v=oau9gtG5Om8 after the dot com at youtube. Am I breaking the fourth wall too much, hypothetical reader? I hope not, it's a wonderful sourse of amusement. What I wouldn't give to see people's faces as I repeatedly break the fourth wall... (insert mental giggle)

My smirk gets wider in satisfaction. _Smug I may be, but I've earned it. Seriously, I can play the kazoo without hands, or breath! Ha! Owned!_

Miranda apparently doesn't think much of my accomplishment though, her disapproving glare boring into my head as if to kill me.

Fortunately for me, we're here. Mission start!

* * *

Losing my focus like I did earlier will get me killed on the battlefield, so I can't make a habit of using it since I'm the type who'd get carried away with it. _No matter how much fun it is._

Guh... I need to keep my head in the game! _Keep focus, Kei! You've infiltrated the base, now take out the targets!_

Taking a calming breath, I peek around the corner. _Six enemies, four salarians and two mechs. Three have line of sight on this corner. No alternative entrances. Time to put my training to work._

I scoot away from the corner to make sure they don't see me turn and put my foot to the wall. I activate my biotics, then place my hands and other foot on the wall as well. My hands and feet have a small blue light glowing between them and the surface, but it should be fine as long as they don't look up.

As I spider climb up the wall and onto the ceiling, I give myself a mental pat on the back. I also thank the moron who gave this place such tall hallways. Tall hallways that I naturally make use of to come at the salarians and their mechs from above.

As always, it's a little hard on my mental discipline to anchor myself stealthily. I have to apply just enough power to 'pull' myself toward the surface, but not enough that I give off too much of a glow. Moving is easier since contact is brief. My problem with moving, though, is that I have to alternate how much biotic power I'm using with each part of me I touch the surface. Only really a problem in combat, since I can get more 'pull' toward the wall or ceiling by 'attaching' more of me I to said surface.

I take a quick look around, gauging my options.

_Lessee now... that one, in the corner. I'll kill that one. I should be able to use the crates in between him and his buddies to hide the kill, then jump whoever comes to check on him._

I move above his position, and ready my Cerberus issue mono-molecular blade. I take another calming breath. Then another. Aaand one more, cause three's the charm. _Damnit, Kei! Just drop! Dropping on his neck will kill him either way, it's fine! Just do it! Do... do something, you weakling!_

Of course, insulting myself doesn't seem to motivate me for... for this. For killing a man, that is. I mean... I really don't want to hurt people, much less kill them.

_I have to. I have to get used to it. How many more will die just because I can't end a man's life? Lessee... who said anything about this? Who can I quote here? Ah, Solid Snake! "Unfortunately, killing is one of those things that gets easier the more you do it." ... Depressing._

And now, in this very brief, unguarded moment of non-thinking, I will allow myself to **just do it.**

I fall. I land silently behind hi- the enemy- the target. Just a target.

_Just a target..._

I pull back my blade.

* * *

I will never forget how it is, how it feels to end a person's life. I will never be allowed to forget, with my drell-like memory. Unlike the drell assassins, like Thane, though... it was my decision. I chose to kill that Salarian, and the Salarian that came to check up on him. When they came around the corner of the crate, I killed the next two with a single swing of my sword, slitting their throats and watching their blood run out. The mechs weren't even on, but I smashed them anyway. Just in case.

... Salarian clans are big. They lay clutches. There are many, many Salarians who will consider these ones family. And I killed them. **I** killed them. I **killed** them. I-

"All targets are down. Good work. Now go get that artifact." ... ... ... Ah, yeah... I was supposed to be doing something like that. ... I think. ... "What are you waiting for? Get moving." ... Miranda... ... ... but... I... to these- No. No. "Cheung, you're not moving." ... I... ... I didn't... want... I... I don't... "Cheung? Respond." ... Ah. ... That's hard. Thinking... thinking is hard right now, too. 'Cause... because if I think, then I'll see it again. How their blood came out and their bodies fell and how they- "Cheung! Answer me!"

"Yes! Sorry!" I yelp, jolting upright. _Huh? When did I sit down? _"... First kill. Gimme a... ... few." Seconds or minutes? I don't know what I intended to say there, I just know that I need a few... somethings. I just need a few.

* * *

An indeterminate amount of time later, I seem to have gained an annoying fairy to ask me annoying questions. Also, I just lied to myself again. I need to stop that, it isn't healthy. It has not, in fact, been an indeterminate amount of time, I just don't care how much time has passed. ... Thirty-four mintues and forty-nine seconds since I made my first- "Cheung, have you found the artifact?"

Miranda, I know you want this done and done fast, but I'm still mulling over 'it.' I'm emotionally unstable and you're pissing me off. Shut up you stupid bitch, 'fore I decide to cut off your legs and feed them to a Krogan. "... Not yet. Just a lot of robotic stuff I'm looting for some side projects. Maybe I can sell it, if I can't build a do-dad with it."

"Keep at it, it's bound to be there somewhere." Of course it is. Shut up now, please. "Have you tried looking in the safe?" Of course, stupid! I checked there first! Twice!

"... Yeah, I checked there. Twice. I'm looking for neat things. Maybe a hidden switch or cardkey or something." Because video games teach you to look for these things. Pay attention to certain details while ignoring others, then connect the dots. The basis of detective work and the word problems in math class. Maybe even writing in first person. God knows I suck at writing in first pers- ooo, a B15-63-2172 microcircuit board. Nice. Nothing else in here, though.

"Lawson, I'm not finding anything. I've searched the place top to bottom, scanned the shit out of every little speck of dust, and checked every nook and cranny for hidden compartments and switches. I ain't found jack squat," I say into my comm, trying not to cringe at my sudden switch to a southern drawl. It seems the side effects of singing along to the country radio station(s) back in my old home hadn't worn off yet. I do this while bagging all the parts I'm keeping and turning the rest to omni-gel, of course. No need to let it go to waste.

"Did you check their omni-tools?" Grr! Shut up!

... No, I didn't. Not telling you that, though. I go over to the corp- bodies and check their omni-tools for anything useful, only answering after I start. "Who do you think you're talking to? I'm doing that right now. I just... didn't want to do it first. Meat, y'know?" That's all they were now. That's all. _And it was me who made them that way._ Goddammit! Brain, shut up! _Don't wanna._ ... You suck, and I hate you. _Yeah well, you can go- hey, wussat?_

Ah, good catch brain. According to this note, there's a key phrase that turns this floor into an elevator. Have to shout it for activation? Mmrrr... okay. Let's try it. "Faaalcoooorr!" Man, I wish I knew what that was from. I remember it was a meme for a while. Something about a dragon...?

Huh? Gah, bright light!

* * *

Mission Report: CB-P122A-6364A12E

To: TIM

From: OML

Primary Objective: Retrieve Prothean artifact. [Status: Success: See Primary Mission Details]

Secondary Objective: Perform low level test of The Cat's combat readiness. [Status: Complete: See Secondary Mission Details]

Primary Mission Details: The Cat found the artifact, but we don't know at what cost to her mental state. Her comm went dead for a full ten minutes before I went to check on her. She was found unconscious, holding a sphere of metal and glass that resembles an eyeball. It was confirmed to be the artifact, but what it does and what secrets it holds are a complete mystery. It's been sent off to R&D for processing.

Secondary Mission Details: Thus far, The Cat has shown exemplary skill in stealth and assassination. Her tactics left nothing to be desired, considering her skill set. Recommend increasing her firearm training, as she lacks long range options.

Personal Analysis: Good at hiding emotions and facts behind other facts and emotions, redirecting conversations on a whim. Good at lying, bad at being honest. Would be good for infiltration of Alliance military. Is emotionally unstable from first kill, recommend caution to prevent her attempting to leave. If the artifact didn't harm her too badly, I suggest giving her further missions once her training is complete.

Found out she likes oldies. Sang "Rama Lama Ding Dong" by The Edsels on the shuttle in. Depending on how much, may be able to bribe her with her interests. Also found she is capable of reproducing complex sounds using the nanites in her body. Upon realizing this, she immediately thought of something either crazy or sinister. Her mask of mania was well-made, so I could not be certain she was thinking about infiltration purposes.

[See Attached File: 232-1925]

Overall, her skills will be a valuable asset for both Intel and wetwork.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: Hey, back again!**

**I'd like to thank you for the reviews, but honestly... Venomancer's really creeped me out. I mean, no good guy ever laughs like 'Kekekekekeke.' o.O;;**

**Normally I wouldn't comment on reviews that amount to "Me gusta" in my actual chapter, but I felt the need to tease Venomancer for his or her manga villian-like laugh.**

**Really though, thank you for your support! =D**

**Disclaimer: Wish I owned Mass Effect, because that would be awesome. Also, I could laugh at all the fanfiction writers who have to write disclaimers.**

* * *

"Critical Hit! Massively Effective!"

Chapter : 003

A Tip to Renegerating People : Wolverine Gets Shot Up A Lot, and It Hurts

_"Ghnnn..." A bright light in my sleepy eyes as I try to wake. As they adjust, I begin to make out the form of an armored salarian._

_"Wh... Where...?" I try to speak, but my everything is weak. So weak. Why am I so weak? I can't afford to be weak._

_The salarian moves quickly, tries to calm me. "Hold still, everything will be fine."_

_He sounds like a babbler. A babble-y type talker. Speaker. Hippo-po-to-mous, or however you say it. Bleg._

_Ah... a little strength. His face becomes clearer. "Wh-what happen?" Tell me. What's going on?_

_"It's okay, just breathe. Push!" He sounds familiar... Wait, push? Breathe? Does he want me to sing? "Push!"_

_Ah... okay, from the gut. Breath in, hold... and pu- "AAAHH!" Pain! Out! Get out! Get out of me! Out! Away! "Breathe!"_

_Breathe?! I can't! It hurts! It hurts! "Push!" I-I-! It hurts! Make it stop! "Push!" I'm pushing, you asswipe, but it hurts! Why am I pushing? It hurts! "Almost over, doing really well!"_

_I don't understand- Ow! What's going on? Why am I pushing? Why am I breathing? Why am I alive-_ why won't it stop hurting?

_Who is this? Can I see? Who is talking? Who is screaming? Is it me? Is it him? Who is who? Wipe my tears, me. I want to see..._

_Ah, that face. I can see who's talking..._

_I see you. Huh? Why do I see you here?_

_Mordin?_

* * *

I wake up covered in sweat, but it feels cold. I feel cold. From my head to my toes, from my flesh to my bones, I'm cold.

_That's right... That happened. It... It isn't my fault. It isn't._

I... need to collect my thoughts. I need to organize myself. Okay. Okay.

First thing's first. It was my second year in this new place, about one year and five weeks since I first woke up to see ugly Dr. Hojo. I was getting pretty wild and rebellious. Something in me was different, and I didn't know what. I gained some weight, but I didn't look any different. I having some nasty mood swings too. I thought it might be some genetic breakdown, but my nanites masked my DNA too well for me to find out on my own. I was too afraid of dissection to go to Hojo, so I ended up keeping quiet.

Then... Cerberus was training me in fighter spacecraft in the Terminus. I got mad with my poor results and accidently broke something in the thruster controls. Forgetting my strength again, I punched something. I ended up getting lost in an asteroid belt by the time I managed to shut them off. Navigation was shot. So were several other systems, since I hit a few of the giant floating rocks. Life support was to shut off within 10 minutes. I was alone, lost, and scared. ... I was going to die, and nothing I could do would change it. I simply ran out of options.

I got lucky. I know it. I will never forget it. Can't, and not just because of my accursed memory.

I... I was found by an STG patrol ship, but my luck didn't stop there. It was Major Isdin's ship, and one Mordin Solus was aboard it. I was surprised I could recognize him without his facial scarring, but maybe I shouldn't have been. I don't know any salarian that speaks like Mordin.

They brought me in, and then set me up with some... 'guest quarters.' Truthfully, I felt like they were going to either imprison me or interrogate me. I was wrong, since they did both. Subtly, of course.

I told them how I am deep cover into a powerful shadow organization. I told them how this organization messed with my body. I told them how said organization is powerful and elusive, and required some precise timing and information if we wanted them wiped out. I told them I am projecting their complete destruction within the next twenty years. I told them I had to get back there, before they get too suspicious.

They told me I was pregnant with salarians. I was shocked more than anything else.

They also told me I could afford a day or three since it would take time for Cerberus ships to find my fighter. The pregnant thing was still ringing in my head, though. I didn't know they knew of Cerberus at all, but it might've been something on my person that gave it away. I wasn't as focused as I should have been, so I might've missed something. I can't remember things I never saw.

I remember thinking, "Oh yeah, that's right... Hojo said I could give birth to any of the species he spliced into my DNA. Salarians... salarians lay clutches before fertilizing them. The eggs. The children."

It was really sad. Luckily, I went through labor the first... night? I never did find out their day/night cycle. Anyway, I went into labor. It was more painful than it should have been, since my hymen hadn't even been broken yet. That's what I tell myself, anyway. I have no way of knowing, since that was my first pregnancy.

I laid a bunch of eggs... but there was no equipment to keep them alive. No water incubator, like they need. Needed.

They all died, and I had to leave before it happened. Maybe that was for the best, though. I don't know what I would have done if I had to... had to be so powerless so many times in a single week.

... Mordin told me that the children, even if they lived, would be extremely deformed by their strange DNA. They'd likely die of major organ failure within fifteen hours. He asked if I would like a sterilization procedure. I said yes after confirming it was reversible. If it wasn't, I couldn't have done it. I would have felt like I was letting someone down.

It's been quite a while since then, but I still don't know who that might be.

Really, Krogan regeneration is the only reason I lived through that surgery. I lost a lot of blood during both labor and the operation, but I recovered enough with the twelve hours in between. Still, I was tired as fu- all get out, which was fine. I didn't want to be awake when I was sent back to my fighter anyway.

The fighter that I was, almost, immediately sent back to had had the life support fixed by the good Major ... That was about all that was fixed, though. I was still stranded in an asteroid belt until Cerberus found me, and my life was in constant danger of the giant floating rocks.

Pop rocks. I want some. Pop rocks, pop rocks. No, rock candy. I want some rock candy.

... Bad me. Focus. Stop getting distracted. Rather, quit distracting yourself from important matters. That's bad. Wait...

Er... Aside from getting picked up eventually, there wasn't anything else to that event.

Just the implications that I can never have kids without them chancing death because their mother is an abomination. No, a freak of nature. I'm not an abomination. I'm not. ... I'm not.

Not yet, anyway.

... Sleep. I need more sleep. I should go back to sleep.

* * *

It's really scary. Waking up one day with what feels like infinitely more knowledge than what you'd gone to sleep with is...

Well, not that I remember falling asleep. Now that I think about it, I somehow fell asleep... no, got knocked unconscious on the mission. That bright light might've had something to do with it. Might also have something to do with my currently jumbled brain.

Why couldn't it have done this when I woke up the first time? Then I'd probably be over it by now. Really, this is somewhat uncomfortable. I feel like my head should be tilted. It doesn't really feel bad, but it doesn't feel good.

It's just... I know things now. Wait, that makes me sound stupid. I'm not. Far from! I'm just... nutters. Nutters, and a little lonely. That's all.

This is different, though. It's information. It's unreadable text. It's sometimes just raw numerical data that just... wasn't supposed to exist. Isn't supposed to exist. Not in my time, not in my reality.

This, I realize, _isn't_ in my reality. At least, it doesn't belong in the 'home in my heart.' Hmm... I wonder if that would make any sense if I explained it to anyone? Bah, I can deal with that later. ... Ah, geez... What am I talking about? Didn't I already decide this is my world now? I can't afford to be indecisive about this. Stupid me!

Being a girl now, I suppose it is only fitting that I am breaking down and crying. Actually, I would have cried anyway, if I'm at all honest with myself. Which I'm not, due to my lying nature.

Agh... I mean... I just have so... so... so much information dumped into my brain, it's hard to find a familiar foothold in my own mind. It's truly scary, being unable to trust my own mind. Whenever I try to sort this info, it'll take me through the ringer. It's like getting my mind thrown into a taffy making machine, what with all the stretching and linking to other parts and coming apart then together again and...

Well, I'm a little out of it. The nightmare (read: memory) I had after I went back to sleep was of me killing those salarians again. It was... draining. I knew I wouldn't be sleeping after that, so... I stayed awake. Which lead to me finally taking in my surroundings and finding myself here, in the med-bay of some random frigate.

Kind of fail on my part. I need to keep my act together. Rather, I need to keep _myself_ together.

I don't like it here. I'm usually busy as hell, what with my company, my training, my planning, and... and my trying to not puke at the thought of killing again. Rather, puke again. I already upchucked my guts twice, once on the scene of the crime and another once I woke up from the nightmare.

As for my crying, I'm not wailing. I'm not even sobbing. I'm just tearing, and letting those tears flow down my face and hit the bed. Sitting in this stupid medical bed slash cot... thing, I can't cry. Not yet. It's not safe to show weakness to Cerberus.

I'm not safe here. I'll never be safe here. I have to remember that, no matter what they tell me or what they offer. It isn't safe here, and I want to be safe. If not for me, then for my children. That I will eventually have.

So yeah. I just saw Miranda on the other side of the window. That doesn't help me right now, since it reminds me I'm going to sacrifice a lot more before I can finally feel _safe._

I'm going to sit here and cry for a bit longer. Later, whatever hypothetical reader is out there.

Hugs,

Kei Cheung

P.S. Puke.

* * *

I take a deep, calming breath. Then another. From the third forward, I close my eyes, and set a rhythm of long, full breaths. _Calm. Focus. Gain objectivity. Gain sharpness. Calm. Focus._

I repeat this again and again, shoring up my determination and discipline to reinforce the mental dam holding back the tides of my guilt, fear, and potential insanity.

I know I am mentally unstable. I know I am not meant for this kind of life. I know that I'm going to bail or retire or whatever after the Reapers are through. Provided I survive, anyway.

_Tch. I need to focus on what I can know and what I can do. Just because I'm lying in the medical wing for the first time in months does not mean I'm useless. I refuse!_

Although that means I'd be being useful in some way for Cerberus. Never a thought that leaves me with good feelings, but until I get better at what I do, I won't be able to leave properly. That is, without getting killed. The largest obstacles in my way, I think, are my emotional problems, mental instablity, and lack of battle experience.

The last can be dealt with just by doing missions. The other two? Who knows when I'll be able to get those taken care of. Among my long list of mental/emotional issues, self-loathing is one of them, and will likely be the hardest to displace. I had plenty of it before I got here, and five years in self-isolation don't help with fixing anything. Well, usually.

I've been getting pretty paranoid, too. I consider it a good thing, though, considering the line of work I'll likely be going into once Shepard gets offed by the Collectors. All the dodging I do of Cerberus' watch in order to build my company has left me almost constantly looking over my shoulder for the inevitable betrayal. Figuratively, of course. It would be suspicious if I actually did, which would prompt a Cerberus investigation. I can't really afford that.

Anyway, back to the 'suddenly knowing a bunch of stuff I didn't before' thing. Knowledge is power. Power corrupts. Sometimes the body, sometimes the mind, sometimes the heart and soul... but it always takes something and changes it. Twists it, skews it into something it was not before. So the sudden acquiring of this huge library of texts on Forerunner technology, when I'd only known it from playing Halo? Couple that with the same vast amount of info on the Covenant's and the UNSC's sciences and tech... well shit, son. Seems I'm due for some mindfuckery.

More mindfuckery, anyway. The memory of my first kill has been in my dreams (read: nightmares) every time I sleep ever since I was put in here three days ago, making for some self-mindfuckery every time I sleep and for the first half-hour or so after I wake up. I'm getting used to it, but it pisses me off.

In other news, I have come to the conclusion that I like the word mindfuckery. I shall use it when talking about Reaper indoctrination ASAP. Yes.

_Tch, off topic again._ Let's see... there's a bunch of other stuff too, like some of the crazy stuff from both Borderlands games, the crazy stuff from the Jak and Daxter games, and the crazy... who knows what else? I can't identify it all. Hell, the only reason I can tell what's from what is because there are pictures. I can't read any of this! How am I supposed to use it? Even the stuff from the UNSC is written entirely differently, and their primary language is English! Er, at least... they are in Halo canon.

Guh... It's like having Demon's Library Hayato downloaded into my brain. So much science and technology... excuse me, _advanced_ science and technology, that I'm genuinely afraid of anyone ever hacking my brain. Seriously, I'll never be able to bone an asari prostitute for fear of galaxy ending repercusions. ... Regardless of whether any of it can be understood or not.

Wait, do asari prostitutes meld at all during sex? Maybe I could- no, one of them could be a spy for someone, for... something. I can't. ... Damn. This bites.

Speaking of galaxy enders, how 'bout them Reapers? What's their score now? Lost count? Undefeated champions? From the team's first formation? Well then, challenge... not accepted. In fact, I want to run away.

That's only natural, right? I mean, look at the enemy! Giant, super-powerful sentient starships from beyond the edges of the known world with the ability to, and practice of, regularly annihilate and assimilate the advanced, spacefaring species of the galaxy every 50,000 years? Yeah, sounds like a nigh unbeatable foe. A final boss fight to end all final boss fights. Unfortunately for me, there's nowhere to run to since I still don't have the knowledge or tech to leave this galaxy and get to the next one safely. All that's left is to fight.

Anyway, good news is that I have time to prepare for the Reaper invasion, since it's going to happen no matter what I do. My previous reading of many self-insert fanfictions helps to affirm this, as I can now say with certainty that all fiction is real in another reality. I better get on building all those warbots, warmachines, and weapons. I mean, hell... I'm not passing this chance up for anything, considering how much more firepower Halo ships pack over Mass Effect ships.

Erm... this is assuming I can figure the ships out at all. I mean... uh... hrm... yeah, I probably won't be able to make a fleet of those kind of things in time. One or two, maybe, since they're really big... but really, I can't even read the blueprints that are at the forefront of my mind. I'm stuck with pictures, and I can't find any pictures telling me how to build their MACs. That's kind of important, since it's the only real reason I want those ships. Oh, and their missles. They have a shit-ton of missles.

Well, I guess I'll be seeing what info I can glean from these images for the next ten years or so. Any information or tech that could help keep us alive even a little longer will be utterly invaluable. Anything to help survival chances. Anything to help get the Crucible in place on time and undamaged. Anything to make sure as many people come home as possible.

Tch... The bad news in all this is that I have to use them at all. I said it before, but war sucks. I can tell from how veterans come back with missing limbs, or destroyed eardrums, eyes, or noses. How the attrocies of war left soldiers broken and hollow. How books written by people who survived, not just the war time but the neighborhoods and streets that became battlefields or slums or ganghoods, would be filled with how _horrible_ it could be. I had and have no desire for war.

Hrm... I believe I thought something similar back when this all began, almost word for word. Unfortunate. I was hoping I hadn't used those lines yet. The writer in me is crying.

Still... I have an extranet connection until we have to switch back to the shuttle. I'll send some info to my people, get this next game hyped. I believe it's about time I do a closed beta of 'The World,' as well. I can't train until I get the all clear, so I'll see if I can't find something in the Demon's Library to help with my plans for the MJOLNIR armor once my extranet connection is cut. Although... I should probably send out a message to Left Hand. Yeah, I'll do that. I need to start actually putting my plans into motion. Might as well be now.

The first thing we're going to need to beat the Reapers is a giant ass fleet.

* * *

_Mmm... hospital jello. Nice to see some things haven't changed. Fruit punch... Yum~_

Truthfully, the easy to digest gelatin is filled with nutrients and minerals to help promote good health and safe healing. It can be safely stored as a powder and doesn't go bad if left out. It's even easier to make in the future ever since a new food dehydration method made it a 'just add water and wait 3 minutes' deal. It even comes in twelve times the number of flavors as there were in 2015, which is quite a lot.

I don't really need to eat this, as my physical state is perfectly fine. In fact, it was never damaged. It's just... well, last time I got some serious mental scars, I kind of went temporarily mad and killed a bunch of Cerberus folk. Not good folk, but still folk. Rather, people. _Curses, my country accent is showing. Er, in my head. ... No, that doesn't sound any better._

I... wasn't in control of myself at the time, so it wasn't my fault. It wasn't me that killed them, it was my genetically modified instincts. Since it was Cerberus who made me like that, technically Cerberus killed its own people. Again.

Unlike the last mission... unlike then... it- it wasn't my fault. The mission...

The mission was my fault. There is no denying that I killed those salarians. Who had mothers. Mothers who might be worried about them. Mothers who will never get another message from their kid. Mothers like I want to be.

How odd. I was born male, yet... I want to be a mother. Sounds like a bad TV show. ... Oh yeah, they're called vids now, aren't they? How odd. ... How odd.

Bah, I'm drifting off.

Anyway, the jello is a finger food for me. The room has been cleared of all loose objects. This includes clothes and bedsheets. The monitors for my health are welded into the wall. My cot is the only thing that can be moved, and even then it can be locked into the floor. Not that that stopped me from ripping it out once, but it made it much easier for them to tranq me before I grabbed something to throw at them.

"Am I an animal?" I had to stop and ask myself this question a while back, when I was having my pregnancy mood swings. Not that I knew I was pregnant at the time. The answer didn't make me feel any better, but it gave me reason to cooperate, and therefore calm down. The answer I came up with amounted to, "Only if I act like one."

So I am not an animal. I'm just a nutjob.

I still hate Cerberus. I can't ever forget that, not if I want to live. Still, I'm glad they didn't try to kill me back then. Cerberus' new standard procedure when dealing with a potential extreme in my mental instability is a bit lonesome, though. This here, this locking me in the med-bay is about all they can do besides sedate me.

It's slightly frustrating. I mean, me sitting by myself for a few days with minimal contact with anyone actually helps, but that doesn't mean I like it. Seriously, I have to do my own rehab! How irresponsible!

How did you like my sarcasm? I thought it was rather nice.

_Careful, you're talking to the imaginary reader again. Oh, and yourself. Can't forget about your super-awesome self._

... Shut up. Moving on...!

To me, eating is a sacred act. It's a time when I can sit down and not think. A time to just relax and be content with life, the universe, and everything. A time I can not worry, not let my thoughts run in circles. No planning, no plotting, no game making, no business, no research [or] development. Just me, my food, and me being at peace. As such, I don't really like being interupted or doing other things while eating. Which is why Miranda showing up through that door-

"Cheung, we'll be switching frigates again soon. Meet me in shuttle bay 14."

Announcing her presence and leaving, taking my precious food time with her, pisses me off so badly. Goddammit.

I wolf down the rest of my food before springing off the cot. I walk over to a square panel on the opposite wall, place my hand firmly against it and wait for it to finish scanning. It makes no noise aside from a small hum, so I'm grateful for that. An automated voice saying, "Scanning, please wait," would probably have made me mad enough to rip it out of the wall.

With a small hiss, a foot wide panel slides upward, revealing the hidden compartment and its contents. The contents being clothes for when it's time to leave. The hand scanner wouldn't have worked, or even been visible, if I hadn't been cleared. There are plenty of other such panels in here for various things, but it's mostly to store things where I can't reach them. Even a paperclip can be deadly in the right hands, after all.

I quickly dress in the standard Cerberus uniform from within the wall compartment. Rather, the standard Cord-Hislop uniform, as Cerberus hasn't been revealed to the galaxy at large yet. A moment looking in the mirror, also in the hidden compartment, shows how I've changed. My hair is still soft, straight, and lusterous, but I let it grow out considerably. On the days I let it down, it comes to the spot just between the bottom of my shoulder blades. Most of the time, I keep it up in a low ponytail since I like how it frames my face like that.

Also, it somewhat makes me look like one of those young men from the Chinese martial arts movies. If only from the neck up, I can look like... well, not a man by any means, but boyish. It's really just one of those hard-to-tell faces because of how pretty it is. At this point, it's mostly nostalgia. I'm a sucker for that.

Since my hair is naturally poofy when short, it usually looks like I have half a yinyang symbol coming out the back of my head. I find it somewhat humorous, considering my ancestry.

Plus, I like the poffle.

I still haven't grown any taller than 5'7", and I haven't seemed to have aged at all. My Chinese heritage is pretty clear from the shape of my eyes, though they aren't really squinty. Well, not by any oriental standards. If they were, I might have eyes that look like lines, and that's simply not cute at all. Not that my well-toned body is any cuter.

Unfortunately for me, I do have to train to keep my skills sharp. It isn't like the krogan that got spliced into me is letting my muscles deteriorate, so I thankfully don't need to do too much muscle training. I'll live the rest of my life with these, but I still need to keep my skills sharp. ...I think I'm going to hate living for centuries, if it's anything like this.

After leaving the medical chamber for the first time in days, my mind wanders to think about why I'm here. I mean, I'd like to think I have some higher purpose for being here, like the self-inserts of so and so many fanfiction. Truth is, though... I don't know if I do. Then again, if I do indeed have some higher purpose here... I don't particularly care. _Need to get outfitted. Storage locker, go to._

I'm a pretty selfish person, as I said. I'm not a good man. Woman. Human thing. Bah. Point is, I don't care what whatever brought me here has planned, I will carve my path with my own two hands, then walk on it with my own two feet. Everything else? I don't know if I have it in me to care.

_At locker. Open. Take all. Equipping..._

That doesn't mean I won't be wary of 'it,' of course. I mean, even with perfect memory of the many games I've played and stories I've read... the unknown is mankind's greatest rival. Constantly assaulting us, challenging us, forcing us to think, adapt, and grow. Hrm... no, assault isn't the right word. Something... that means it constantly forces itself upon us. Is there a word for that? Perhaps I should read the dictionary.

Anyway, I think Custom Robo said it the best. "People learn from their mistakes. We learn, and our thinking grows, leads us to a higher level. As long as there is an unknown, humans will pursue it and seek to unravel its mysteries." That last sentence sounds rival-like to me. After all, a rival is 'someone you struggle against in order to better yourself.' At least, that's what I think.

My point is that the unknown is both dangerous and exciting at the same time. A not-so-friendly rival who wishes to remain greater than us, even if it has to kick us in the crotch to do so. That's fine. I don't care. It can stay on top. I'm fine with just surviving what it throws at me.

In the meantime, I'll keep a lookout. Even if I'm not actively searching for this thing or phenomena that brought me here, I'll err on the side of caution. Plus, chances are that I'm not going back. Chances are, I'll never get to do anything about or for the people I left behind. So... why worry about it?

_Outfitted and ready for combat. Hangar bay 14, go to for quest start._

Oi, brain. Could you stop that? I'm trying to be introspective.

_Nope. What will potential readers think if you constantly talk about yourself? What you like, what you think?_

They'll think I'm nuts, and they'd be right. Now shut up. I need to... do something else.

_Ha! You don't have an excuse. Just like how you-_

Don't have an excuse good enough to make me leave the situation alone, I know. Yeah, I know I'm nosy, selfish, self-centered, and am stubborn about doing the things I want to do. Well, I want to save people. War is coming, and I don't want even more people to die.

_... Unless you're shooting them._

... Yes, unless I'm shooting them. Or stabbing them. Or c- Okay, new topic.

_Okay. Suggestion; monologue less._

Can't. Thinking up fictional scenarios is one of my favorite past times, you know that. ... Er, I know that. Rather... No, that doesn't sound any better. Anyway, no. Mental monologue leads to inspiriation.

_You sure? If it's the kind that inspired the stunt in training sim B-Theta-16, then-_

No. It doesn't do that. ... Most of the time.

_Fine. How about leaving less pauses when you speak?_

... What's wrong with the way I speak?

_I'unno. Maybe everything?_

... Moving on, I am now in the shuttle bay labeled number fourteen! Huzzah and whatnot! There's Miranda over there, being some hot ice. _Dat ass._ Shut up. Sorry reader. My self-imposed distance from talking with Cerberus, combined with other things, has lead me to be- _A bit nutters, they know. Stop calling attention to it, I'm certain they don't care anymore. Also, you're doing it again._

Damn. I need to get out of this place. Really, the only company I feel can trust here is Myself, and I hate him too! Me isn't all that bad, but she insists I learn fashion and go shopping, which is slightly annoying. I only really want to do the shopping part.

No, I don't actually have multiple personalities, I just talk to myself far too often. ... I'm getting distracted again. Talking to myself and breaking the fourth wall, as well. I should stop that.

Let's see now... Miranda is standing in front of the shuttle, tapping away at that datapad again. There's a shuffling sound from inside the shuttle. The pilot, I assume. They have heavy footsteps. I think it's safe to say... male, at least 200 pounds. _Hmm... Better get going._

Hrm... I don't think I'll ever understand future people fashion, much less Miranda's. Maybe it's a rich person thing to wear tacky shapes all over your body?

... Wait a minute... In Mass Effect 2, her outfit allows her to take body shots just as well as a character with the equivalent of medium armor. Actualy, it was probably light armor. Either way, just from looking at it, it doesn't seem possible. It isn't more than a jumpsuit, right?

Wrong. That hexagonal pattern isn't a design preference. It's tacky. Not that Miranda doesn't work it somehow anyway. No, the hexagons there must be some sort of protective layer. Nano-weave carbon-fiber armor, maybe? No, more likely those are to redistribute the kinetic energy from impacts in order to mitigate damage. Sort of like the kinetic fabric worn under most armor, but better. Actually, she probably has the money to get both of those researched and incorporated into her suit. Hrm... might have the brains to do it herself, honestly.

What else...? The way she walked around Freedom's Progress with only that suit on suggests it has temperature control and makes for a sealed, pressurized environment. Well, maybe semi-pressurized, considering the hole she leaves for her cleavage. ... Er, wait... Freedom's Progress let them go around without helmets. Gah. That's a wash.

Still, I can use this.

It should effectively double the damage I can take before actually getting injured if I incorperate it into my jumpsuit. Including the hard armor, I should be able to withstand more than enough small arms fire to bull-rush someone a hundred meters away. If it works, that is.

Seeing me walk up, the genetically perfect operative nods me into the shuttle.

_Back to the grind._

The shuttle is a tad larger than the ones you see in the games. This isn't very surprising since the first game you get to see it in takes place ten years from now. The outside is just bulkier all around, though it doesn't seem to be because of armor. The thrusters and such are likely less efficient, which is why the 'legs' on this thing are so much thicker.

The inside looks about the same, though Cerberus seems to have sprung for leather seats. Must be nice, being able to flaunt your money.

In the cockpit, there are lots of little lights that either don't mean much or could be the difference between life and death. Usually, these two things are placed right next to each other in the typical poor design. Pilots sort of get a raw deal right now.

"I really hope the layout gets improved soon. There's really no excuse for this," I say to the pilot, gesturing at the display. The man, a tower of muscle that somewhat reminds me of James Vega, just grunts at me as he flicks the holo-screens back and forth. He doesn't say anything else, so I go back to the cabin and sit down across from Miranda.

She's already back to tapping on that datapad, doing who knows what to who knows what. _Or who knows what to who knows **who**. __I can just imagine it now; with a tap of a button, fourteen men lay dead in a ditch._

Considering her position within Cerberus, I believe this to be a fair assumption. I mean, they have eyes and ears everywhere. The only good news is that the numbers of their real, in-the-know assets are small. Less than one hundred, in fact. Unfortunately, each and every one of them is worth at least ten men in their respective field or fields. Hell, even the janitors are among the best.

That, however, is not something I'd like to dwell on. The discovery was rather embarrassing.

* * *

Tests. I hate tests. Especially when I have no choice in taking them. Hojo is tapping away on his datapad while watching me through some bulletproof glass. So are the rest of the labcoats making me take his stupid test. Miranda is nowhere to be seen.

"Rrgh," I grunt from the exertion of my task. I am ignored.

I am also (barely) carrying an engine block to the other side of the hangar. This would be easy if it was on and in neutral, and therefore floating, but it is not. This thing weighs almost a half a ton, and would be impossible for the usual military man to even push. This is something you'd get a krogan to do, not a human.

I feel I should note that the human military has a standard gene-mod, but it does not exceed the natural maximum capabilities of mankind. I feel I should also note that the most weight ever lifted by human hands was little over three quarters of a ton by a man who trained his entire life to lift weights. His muscles were _made_ for lifting weights. Not carrying car blocks.

Then there's me, who not only has more efficient muscles granted by Cerberus experimentation, but also have been training my ass off for the past five years. Hojo... Hojo and his team have made some modifications to me in that time. Mostly to my bones, since I kept breaking them. I mean, just because my muscles can take it doesn't mean my skeleton can. I found that out after the first lifting test five years ago.

They augmented my muscles some more after that. I don't know exactly what they did since I can't find the files, but I assume it was to increase the efficiency of my muscles with as little extra mass as possible. I mean, I only got stronger from most of them, but others...

When I complained the first time, they made it perfectly clear that I am merely a test subject to them. I think the only reason they don't break me is because The Illusive Man wants a super-soldier, and a completely unmodified human hasn't existed since before the opening of the Mars Archives.

They know the only reason I don't break _them_ is because The Illusive Man would have me killed.

The labcoats (Not scientists! They don't have enough dignity!) decided to augment me again once I brought up the 'types of muscle' idea. See, there are specific muscles made for doing certain things. The more you do them, the better you get once you've healed. This is the concept behind working out.

This is not what I am talking about. ... Thinking about, rather.

Point is, there are supposedly three types of muscle. Red has high amounts of stamina but low amounts of explosive power, and is often referred to as Aerobic Muscle. White has good explosive power, but tires quickly. These are known as Anaerobic Muscles. Finally, there are pink muscles, which are somewhere between the two. These muscles are _highly trainable,_ and will often become more like white or red depending on what the person trains in.

The ratio of these muscles does not change after reaching physical maturity. You also do not gain more muscle after reaching physical maturity. You can only train what you have. You can make the muscles stronger, but you can never actually get more muscle fibers.

Well... unless a criminal organization somehow puts more in you. Not the point, though. Point is, all of the muscle in my body has been changed into pink muscle, then injected with a strange concoction that I haven't managed to figure out the details of yet. All I know is that it keeps the red and white aspects of my pink muscle from getting too unevenly balanced, and forces me to train both evenly if I don't want to hurt myself.

Including everything else they've done to me, the end result is me having way more strength and stamina than I should for my body type.

Y'know, the body type known as human. That one.

Hrm... anyway, lifting a half ton is straining. Walking with it? More so. I wish they'd let me drop the damn thing already.

I _really_ wish I was only a little bit stronger so I could just throw it at them.

The engine is starting to glow blue, and I am not getting a good feeling about it. "Increasing mass," I hear Asshat Labcoat Number Four (so I have named him) tells me over the comm.

Yeah. Bad feeling.

* * *

"So, yeah. Thanks for snapping my legs. Again. You asshole."

Hojo doesn't even turn around to see me flip him off from my spot on his examination table. He just keeps on fiddling with his fancy chemical compound solutions. Probabaly to piss me off.

He does a good job of pissing people off.

Granted, I will heal on my own within a few more hours since the break wasn't too bad, but still... It's the principle of the thing. You don't just break people's legs without a good reason!

Apparently, science is a good reason. Plus, I can't punch him from here and my biotics don't go that far, so he's safe. For now.

"So doc, I was curious. How do you plan to make me less human next? Just so you know, I won't be able to get any guys if I get any heavier, and then I'd have to kill you," I tell him casually. Technically, his approval is the only way I can get out of the lab without getting shot at, so I really can't make good on that threat.

"Please, you and I both know you could never kill me. I'm too much of a 'slimy bastard,' as you put it." Smug little shit, I'll crush your- "As for muscle mass, you've reached your limit. 117 pounds of high-effeciency, high-density, thoroughly trained pink muscle. You could stab a man with your tongue if you tried."

Without even looking at the console, he presses a button to pull up an image of my skeletal system. "I've augmented your muscles and nerves to the best of my ability. I could do more on your bones, but a girl your size weighing more than 200 pounds would be suspicious."

This is true, I think. I weigh about one-eighty-five, so muscle makes up most of my weight. Fifteen pounds of that is the bone augmentations, and the rest is due to my multiple organs. Well... I let some fat grow so that I don't look like some super ripped amazonian woman. I mean, there are some people who would go for that, but generally people of either gender... like to lick whipped cream off of some hot abs. Which I have. Yum.

- Please Wait -

(~Daydreaming Naughty Things~)

- Please Wait -

... Wait, where was I going with this again? Oh, right. Let some fat grow to look well-toned instead of ripped. This has had the nice side effect of filling out my breasts so they aren't such an odd shape. (No, I will never make mention of nor explain this before now, or ever again.) On the other hand... my waist got larger! Gah, my curves...! It's only an inch or two, but it's enough to make a girl cry.

... Well, I suppose I look more normal this way anyhow. Isn't it Miranda's waist that's unnaturally thin? Geez, really... I'm just going to have to settle for my more subtle, softer curves. It's not like my abs don't make up for it.

... ...

... Did I really just do that? Checking memo- yep. Yes sir, I just got jealous of another girl- woman, another woman for being hotter than me. The hell? Since when have I ever done that? ... Yeah, no. I can't remember ever doing that before, as a guy or a girl.

... Guy or girl? Ah, now there's a funny thought. "Hojo? Have you ever wanted to be a girl?"

Ah, that choking sound is very satisfying. My broken legs are pleased in their vengeance.

Hojo whirls around on me, pointing his finger ever so menacingly in my general direction. He should get his nails clipped. I can see the gunk under them from here. Gross. "You're not much a model for you gender either, so you can shut up and do as you're told!"

I was totally right. No way he would have reacted like that if he hadn't seriously thought about it before.

"Listen up, Zero-Thirteen, because I'll only say this once. You're being trained for a deep cover mission, and you'll need to be in the best shape possible for it! If you don't get back to training and get rid of that fat on your belly, your project, and therefore you, will be terminated! Do you understand?" he hisses out from between his yellow teeth, his snarl revealing his nose hairs and a bunch of other nasty things my enhanced eyesight really don't want to see.

"Sure, sure..." I nod and wave it off. It's not like he'll torture me to get what he wants. We went through that song and dance ages ago. Suffice to say, it didn't work. It got my anti-interrogation training out of the way early, though, so there's that. "In order to survive, I need to have an unnaturally thin waist line like Lawson. Got it."

I'm not sure if his eyes narrowed, since he's so squinty-eyed in the first place, but he definitely just became more angry. Instead of acting on it though, he just turns back to his work with an audible huff. "Nothing about you is natural, so I suppose that should work out perfectly for you."

... ... ... Son of a-

**"God damn it! Hojo, I'm going to-"**

* * *

Dear Reader,

I am currently sitting on my bed, in my assigned room, doing the most dangerous thing to my possible. That is to say, I am currently thinking.

The past, the present, the future and what I might like to do with it... I'm thinking about a lot of things. Again. I go in circles and circles.

Recently, I've been having trouble keeping focus and consistency. My thoughts have been all over the place since my first kill. It has been difficult to force myself to think about the present and future. It has been hard to not get lost in the past, and my past mistakes. My past wrongs. My guilt that follows me from them. I've been getting better, though.

I got a second mission. After a recent physical with Hojo, he deemed that I was not going to get stronger without the Vorcha Neoblast cells turning into more muscle tissue. Since I made him mad, he sent me out on a mission as soon as I was deemed fit. Naturally, that was almost immediately.

I was to kill these Blood Pack mercs who were about to discover Cerberus. There were twelve of them. It was... it was- [horrible/**I don't want to think about it**].

... Ugh. See? My thoughts are all jumbled. I can't keep myself from thinking two things at the same time. I'm fighting my own mind. That isn't even inlcuding the effects of the Demon's Library.

I don't know if you understand the depth of horror this causes me. The only other time this happened was- [**I don't want to think about it**/That Time/when I hurt her/I did something unforgivable/I did something stupid]. It sends shivers throughout my entire body. It makes me feel sick, complete with fever chills and nausea.

There are so many things in my head that I want to say, sometimes I have trouble keeping order.

I worry that soon, I may become an emotionless killer. I only puked twice for killing twelve guys, instead of the five times for the four salarians.

I've been an emotionless person before. It was a stupid time that I dislike greatly. I had no goals or purposes. I mean, when I stopped being an emotionless failure, I still had no goals or purposes. Technically, I just became a failure. A fun, ball-of-sunshine type failure, but a failure none the less.

Still, I was happy just doing what I wanted to do. Being who I wanted to be.

Being a selfish little liar who lived in his own little delusional world where everything is fine and dandy. Why wouldn't it be? My parents were well off enough to pay for most things, while supporting me and my siblings. I could sit in my room and read all day. Books, magazines, comics, manga, fanfiction, news articles, scientific journals... anything and everything I could get a hold of.

All to lie to myself and say that everything would be all right. That the high ideals can be upheld. That I am worth something. That I am not wrong. That I'm not shirking my responsibilities for myself or my future. That I'm not just distracting myself from reality to live in a fantasy.

That I am not running away.

I lied to myself, my parents, my family members, and pretty much everyone who ever asked. I lied and lied and lied, day in and day out.

Even now, I lie to myself and say that there is someone out there, reading this and getting my messages. I have to. I have to.

I mean, I mean I mean I mean... Y'know? If I didn't unload this all to someone, I'd go bonkers! That'd be bad. I can't trust these Cerberus guys, so I can't bond with them. Not allowed.

Speaking of Cerberus, Miranda probably has realized that I'm bad at letting go of the past. More specifically, my guilt. If she's really as good a judge of character as she says she is, then she knows.

Gah... I kind of wish I could just type. I want an old computer keyboard from the late nineties. Then I could just type out every thought in a familiar way. Omni-tools suck, just like touch screens. Friggin' iPods.

Where was I? I know I'm off track, but... Oh, right. I don't need to be in order. I'm unloading. ... Reader, if this is the first message you get, I'll repeat everything in a later chapter, so don't worry about it. Er, provided I don't die.

Also, if you can figure out who I am from my fake name, could you check to see if I'm gone in your reality? If I'm still there, cool. Show me my fanfic, if I'm not the one writing it. It ought to be funny.

If I'm not, could you please help my brother with his algebra homework for me? The idiot is going to fail at this rate. I don't want him to have trouble with things later on simply because he can't do simple things like algebra.

... What am I doing? I'm talking to a person who may or may not exist, potentially breaking the fourth wall, and finally learning how to apply mascara from a magazine. I am also brooding, so I think it is safe to say I'm going insane.

So many things wrong with these past few statements... (Mental Anime Sweatdrop!)

At least I've gotten used to being a chick. For the most part. The monthly is still a bitch to deal with, but I deal. Not much else I can do right now.

Well... I can't keep bitching about the same old stuff over and over. I'll never get anywhere like this. So, I think I'll make myself a promise.

I will be the person I want to be. I will stop dreaming so much, and do more. I will be unyielding in my beliefs.

I will be a flame, warm and soothing. I will be a fire, hungry and ambitious. I will become a blaze, suffocating and destructive.

I will be a black cat of 'luck.' Good luck, bad luck, I will bring it down as I feel I should. I will be unapologetically selfish, and do the things I want to do. I will hide and reveal the truth as I see fit.

I will become both a shield and sword, protecting those I want to protect and cutting down the foes who threaten them.

I will become a creature of fire, shadows, and lies. I certainly don't deserve anything better.

I will use my power to protect those I can. It will be my penace.

I will survive. I'm tired of running from my problems. Dying won't solve them.

... That is all, so I swear it upon my soul.

... ... ...

Oh, right. Letter format.

Sincerely,

Kei Cheung

* * *

Status Report: CB-PDH-PB-2K175-S013R229

To: TIM

From: DRH

Recent Developments: Found maximum muscle mass capacity. Could increase genetic augmentations for bone reinforcement, but would likely lead to kidney failure. Not advised. Max lift weight seems to be approx 1011.73 lbs. Tibia snap after that point. Recovery time for a clean break has improved from 7.20 hours to 6.94 hours. May still improve with repeated conditioning.

Range problems with biotics are still unchanged. Sourse of issue continues to elude, but Zero-Thirteen appears to be getting around this limitation.

The subject has been toing around with the nanites recently, and will soon figure out that everything that it sees and hears is recorded and transmitted to me. I do not believe this to be acceptable, and am requesting clearance to tamper with the brain again.

[See Attached File: 156-4451]

[See Attached File: 201-2626]

[See Attached File: 229-1966]

[See Attached File: 229-2625]

Personal Analysis: I've said it before, but it is a shame Dr. Berns decided to go and stage that accident so many years ago. Drawing STG to an area we were not prepared to enter immediately was smart, but he was not smart enough to save himself. Shame. It is only now that I can admit he was right about pregnancies potentially destabilizing the subject's DNA, which would have been an unacceptable loss. Shame we had to kill him. He was almost, but not quite, as smart as me! His intellect would have been useful in figuring out how to further augment the bone tissues, not to mention extending the range of its biotics.

It seems to be getting somewhat uppity again, so I've requested that OML do something about the attitude. My creations should not be talking back to me, merely obeying. It pains me to admit that my nanites do a poor job of replacing a control chip on any level. There will be no mind controlling of this one without a proper chip. Fortunately, I have plenty of opportunities. It might decrease the subject's effectiveness as a deep cover intelligence agent, but there would be no doubt to its loyalty. I highly recommend this course of action. I have included an improved control chip design for you to look over.

[See Attached File: 063-9328]

[See Attached File: 941-5719]

* * *

Mission Report: CB-M392K-6211A51E

To: TIM

From: OML

Primary Objective: Eliminate Targets. [Status: Success: See Primary Mission Details]

Secondary Objective: Perform intermediate level test of The Cat's combat readiness. [Status: Complete: See Secondary Mission Details]

Primary Mission Details: The Cat was forced to track the targets though a heavily forested environment. Without asking for help nor informing me of the situation, she took the eight of the twelve out using traps and stealth kills within an hour. She regurgitated into her helmet at some point, which blew her cover due to a Krogan smelling her when she removed it. She then proceeded to dispatch remaining targets with her monomolecular blade.

Secondary Mission Details: Aside from a single blunder, The Cat has again shown great skill in stealth and assassination. Her tactics left little to be desired, though training to withstand strong smells may be necessary. Did not even attempt to use her pistol, prefered method is the close combat in which she excels. Made excellent use of terrain to make lethal traps. Recommend increasing her firearm training with sniper rifles and shotguns in particular.

She appears to be getting used to the act of killing, and her mental state appears to be stabilizing. With another mission or two, she should be cleared for more difficult deployments.

Personal Analysis: Her skill set is proving to be more diverse than originally thought. In addition to using tree limbs, logs, and forest debris to make deadly traps for the unaware, she masterfully steered the targets from one trap into another. If the Krogan had not caught her scent, she would likely have killed his last three allies with her final trap, which was left untriggered.

In all honesty, it was impressive. The trap would have whipped out two low limbs to knock the less sturdy to the floor, catching them in the net strung between them. The targets would have been stuck just long enough to certainly be hit with a dropped load of lumber that had its mass increased via biotics. It would have been nigh instantly fatal, and left Cheung to fight only a single opponent.

As for her skills in a less natural setting, my investigations have revealed that she is attempting to build a power armor in secret, as well as several prototype weapons. She covered her tracks well, but cyber warfare is clearly not her strong suit. Considering her secrecy in the matter, I can only assume she does not trust us in any great capacity. I have taken the liberty of furthering efforts to get more intel in case they are ever used against us. Attempting to get her to share her tech would likely be met with hostility, so force or espionage may be necessary.

[See Attached File: 665-4518]

Before allowing her any sort of autonomy, securing her loyalty is paramount. Especially with the tasks planned for her.

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, so yeah. This was supposed to be one half of chapter 3, but then the character development spiraled out of control and I sort of ended up with this. ****More action next time~**

**Next Chapter: Of Genetically Altered Mice and Genetically Altered Humans : How to Punch a Pikachu (Title Pending)**

**Stay tuned, and Take care!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay, three things before this chapter gets rolling.**

**1) Thought I'd try mixing up the format a little bit.**

**2) If you have suggestions on how to improve a fight scene, don't be afraid to throw them at me. I'm not used to actually writing them. This chapter mostly revolves around such scenes so that I can get some practice with them, although plot advancement is always nice.**

**3) Remember that this self-insert is based off an _altered history_ of myself from two years ago, and that any ideas you may get of what I may or may not have done... are none of your business, and likely not as bad as you think.**

**Disclaimer: If I had a genie, I'd wish to own Mass Effect. But I've never had a genie, so... yeah. Not mine.**

* * *

To: OML

From: TIM

Good work.

You're absolutely right about securing The Cat's loyalty. Do whatever you have to. I'll leave it up to your judgement.

Here are your new orders. Make it happen.

Primary Objective: Test The Cat's combat capability against enemies with completely unknown abilities.

Ongoing Secondary Objective: Gather as much combat data as possible on The Cat's prototypes.

* * *

To: DRH

From: TIM

I like how you've improved the control chip. Very impressive, good work.

However, we won't be using it on Subject Zero-Thirteen for the time being. We'll give her a chance to prove herself before resorting to the chip.

* * *

To: Boss

From: Left Hand

Business is going well, and the season's new games are well received. Expansion DLC development is underway. Server stress testing results say we overshoot our needs by 330%. Would you like me to get a team together to improve it further?

These series are currently our top items:

Metal Gear

Assassin's Creed

Funnily enough, they are both Earth-based historical fiction, but it is the Salarians and Turians who seem to like these games the most, with Asari in a close second.

Beta testing for "The World" has revealed more bugs than we thought there would be, and may require a secondary beta. Still, polls say it is highly anticipated.

Opened a several small business practices, as per instructions. If it works out as projected, we should see a 240,000 credit total increase in annual profit by the end of the first fiscal year. I'm concerned about opening a business in the market for making weapons, but it should sell well in the Terminus, if nothing else.

Have some possible hirings for you:

[Nikket, Joel]

[Peers, Kelsey]

[Pwin, Caeleb]

[Li, Xin]

Here are the most recently intercepted Cerberus transmissions:

[TIM-OML 2175 #261]

[TIM-DRH 2175 #024]

Cerberus goons have found out about 'Project.' I've taken steps to increase security. This message is, as of right now, updating your cyber-security, since we both know you're lacking there.

I know you've delegated the protection of your information to me, but I still worry that my skills alone won't be enough. I'd feel much better if you took more time to improve your programming and hacking skills.

Well, it isn't my place to tell you what to do. I just don't want anything to happen to you. Please be careful.

Left Hand, out.

* * *

"Critical Hit! Massively Effective!"

Chapter: 004

Mad Science 101: If You Haven't Been Rejected by Your Esteemed Peers, You're Doing It Wrong

_She's crying. Her beautiful blonde hair is in a mess. That cute little face of hers is stained with tears._

_And it's all my fault._

_All my fault._

_She's never cried in front of me. She took great care not to. I always told her she never had to hide her tears from me. If I was wrong I was wrong, and I should know it._

_And oh dear God am I wrong. I hurt her. I hurt her so bad. Oh God..._

_Not once has she ever truly cursed me. Not once has she ever really told me to go away._

_Not until today._

_I'm so wrong. I'm so wrong. I'm horrible. I am not a good person. I am evil._

_I am evil._

_I am a monster._

* * *

I inhale sharply, waking from the nightmarish memory with a start. I almost cry out, but I manage to remember where I am and restrain myself. Cold permeates my body again, the entirety of my being covered in goose-bumbs. Shivering and spazzing, I weakly teeter over to the garbage bin next to my desk.

Plagued by my stupid, horrible, monstrous, evil decisions of the past, I heave for the next good while. Gripping tightly to the bin, I curse myself the entire time. Considering the horrible sin I had committed against [those I love/**her**/the love of my life], it is only natural to be broken and filled with [**evil**/self-loathing/sin/criminal tendencies/insanity].

_I need to pull myself together._

Eventually I stop dry heaving long enough to start my calming exercises. Mostly composed of taking deep breaths, relaxing my body, and forcing an absence of thought, it just so happens to be when I am most vulnerable. It also happens to been when I am most volatile, so that usually gets the others in the facility to leave me be.

_Just another day in the life of a reality-shifted, genderbent idiot whose mind likes to torture him with the times he thought he was a man, but was really just a stupid boy. ... Her? Ugh, whatever._

Finally calm, I check the clock. It reads 4 AM, so I know I can go back to sleep. I won't though. Not after that. I don't want to dream again.

So, I decide to prepare for the day. I shower, get dressed, and then spend a good hour trying to get the make-up right. I only recently started to do it, so I end up screwing up many, many times.

As I walk over to my locker by the door, I smell something odd. The smell falls somewhere between sunflowers, apples, and rotting flesh, so it isn't exactly a pleasant type of odd, either.

Then the lights cut out. There isn't a speck of light anywhere for my eyes to adjust to, so I'm effectively blind. In the darkness, I hear a two small hissing sounds.

_One is the door, but what is the- !_

A four-legged furry thing, about the size of a decently sized house cat, jumps at me from the front, hissing and... snarling? I grab it out of the air on a conditioned reflex, thankfully grabbing it by one of its appendages. In this moment, I am glad that I tried to learn how to catch bullets three years ago.

_Keyword being tried._

Suddenly, some blue sparks light up the creature's yellow-furred face. It is a rat. A large rat with circular red electrical burns on its cheeks and an intelligent gleam in its eye.

_It knows what it is trying to do. It knows it is trying to kill me._

I rear my hand back to punch it, but a large electrical current flows through my body before I let loose. My whole body seizes, my muscle control temporarily robbed from me and my entire being is filled with a horrible cramping pain. I feel the limb in my hand get crushed, the blood and flesh... squelch-y between my fingers.

I almost fall when the current stops due to the sudden relaxation of my muscles, but I manage to catch myself. I'd like to think it's because of my martial arts training, but it's more likely a combination of Salarian reaction time and Krogan regeneration. I decide to ponder it later, though.

The yellow rat thing falls to the floor, where it is now letting sparks run over its whole body. This small amount of light lets me see something I think I'd rather not. Unfortunately, I can't unsee the massive amount of cancerous growths bulging out of this thing's skin.

It has two brown stripes on its back, and its tail seems to be forced into a lightning bolt shape. The sparks start at the cheeks arc along the yellow fur, only slightly above the skin. The creature growls and whines as it crawls away.

It eyes hold fear. I don't need to look to know, because I can smell it. The creature... looks like a demented Pikachu. No, more like an experimental mix between a dire rat and a Pikachu.

This creature has to be one of Hojo's experiments. I can't think of anyone else with the capacity to... do such a horrible thing.

Unfortunately, I don't think I can help it. I simply don't have the skills.

That doesn't mean I won't try, though.

I pull up my omni-tool and try to scan it, but get only static. Which is very odd, since that shouldn't happen unless I'm being jammed. Maybe the creature is the cause? I'll try something else before killing it.

I try to contact Miranda, but that doesn't work either. It seems that, yes, comms are jammed. I wonder how far, but I set it aside for later.

Well, in either case... this Pikachu creature is going to die, from what I can see. The tumors, combined with what I did to its leg, will probably kill it in a few days at most. Killing it would be a mercy compared to sending it back to Hojo's lab.

_Regardless of how it gained sentience, it would be better to kill it. After all, this isn't a Saturday morning cartoon. Befriending the enemy will not prevent them from stabbing you in the back when they need to save themselves. That's just not how it works._

I grab the Least Favorite Pillow (every household has one) off the bed and drop it on the Pikachu thing's head. Before it lands, I rear back my arm and punch into it, forcing it downward into the rat's skull. The electricity dies down immediately.

_As I thought, the creature is only strong enough to tase its enemies. A pillow is a fine insulator for that level of power._

I attempt to contact Miranda again, but I still get nothing.

_It seems the area is being jammed, then. I better arm myself._

I grab my katana and my pistol, flicking on the latter's flashlight so I can actually see. I slip the sheathed sword into my belt for easier access, since the back holsters for it are on my armor and I don't have a rope to make a makeshift one.

Exiting the room, it unnerves me somewhat that the emergency lighting hasn't come on. The thought that other systems, like life support, might be failing gets me moving, and I rush to the armory. I curse the Cerberus engineers for making the weapons and armor lockers separate.

Left turn at this intersection, right at this T-junction, through the mess hall, down a flight of stairs... and here I am, twenty feet from the armory and closing. Ten feet out, I hear something beyond the doors. I turn off my flashlight but keep my pistol trained on the door.

_Footsteps, at least one ton in weight. Doesn't sound metallic on the floor, so not likely to be a synthetic._

Must be one of Hojo's creatures. I wonder...

_What? Being indecisive now?_

... Maybe. Just... Should I really kill them? I killed the Pikachu thing since it was going to die anyway, but if one could be saved...

_What are you talking about now, idiot? They've been experimented on by Hojo. Killing them is likely their only shot at freedom. For once, how they die can be their own choice!_

That's the point! They're- They have no choice! They have no choice- no say in whether they get to live or die! Isn't that wrong? They didn't want to be experimented on, I'm certain!

_You have no room to talk, you monster. You didn't give her a choice, after all. Why should you worry ab-_

I burst out with emotion, guilt again heavy in my throat and my gut as I shout pleadingly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Shut up shut up shut up! I'm not-!"

I'm interrupted by a roar, the simultaneous sound of the ton-toting creature charging, and the realization that maybe, just maybe, I should get some therapy if I survive this. Stealth operations, bad pasts, and mental breakdowns don't mix well.

I flick my light back on just in time to see the doors to the armory get busted off their hinges. You know: the ones that don't exist on sliding doors. The doors are sent flying toward me, but are knocked out of the air and trampled on by the large arms of the creature.

Backpedalling hard from the charging creature, I recognize it as a Yawg. Makes sense that Cerberus would experiment on one or two. I mean, the STG likely has a few by now, and the Shadow Broker was taken over by one who knows how many years ago. Still, the sight of it is unsettling, and not just because it could be the source of the stations problems.

No, this thing is white, sparkling, and giving off a light mist, as if he get hit by a few too many Cryo Blasts. From what I can tell, it Yawgs didn't have a hard armor shell like the Reaper Brutes did, even though they shared the same movements in Mass Effect 3. Even so, it moves just fine.

I shoot it in the face a few times, but it doesn't bleed. The frozen skin just chips off, leaving a few odd holes. Said holes then regenerate and freeze over in moments, giving the prick some sort of natural ice armor. Suffice to say, FUCK!

My options with close combat are nil. I can't use my fists if it's own physiology is making its skin freeze over, and my sword is a no go because without one hand holding my gun, I have no light. For a Monomolecular Blade, I'd need two hands to cut a limb off this thing. Now if I had an High-Vibration Blade, that'd be a different story.

So I turn and run back up into the mess hall and take cover behind the serving counter, again turning off my light to better conceal myself. I quickly run over the layout of the rooms adjacent to this one, but I conclude that this one will give me the best tactical advantage. Namely, a hiding place until I can figure something out.

_Can't use Incinerate, the plasma ball it creates isn't stable enough yet for the military to clear it, likely too dangerous. I could try to go for a Tech Explosion and use Overload, but the mechanics behind Cryo Blast and this natural ice armor could be too different for that._

The Yawg has already charged up and flipped a table. It's only a matter of time before I'm found.

_If I attack carelessly, there's a chance I'll get totaled, and I really don't want to find out what would happen if the thing that freezes its skin will freeze me too. Fortunately there are lots of shelves to hide behi- Okay, I have an idea. Let's hope it works._

I carefully move to the kitchen proper, using a very low amount of biotic glow from my palm to guide me. I check the oven, pipes, and ingredients for anything flammable, but only find bread. Finding no good flammables, I start turning kitchen utensils into omni-gel, and from omni-gel into kerosene which I load into a five gallon soup pot.

It's slow going, and every moment that passes I have to force myself to keep a pace. I can't think that I can afford the mistakes that rushing will bring. I must keep my calm, since my bullets don't seem to do anything.

Apparently I pour in the last bit too loudly, because I hear the Yawg break down the counter moments later. I grab my pot of kerosene, put a slice of bread between my teeth, then jump straight up and Anchor myself to the ceiling with my biotics. I almost don't lower the light I give off in time for the ice creature to tear through the wall separating the front serving area with the kitchen, but I manage.

It sniffs loudly, and I realize that it wasn't the sound I was making, but the smell! I immediately drop my load on it, drenching it in flammable fluid. Dropping down while it's distracted with knocking away the pot, my foot lights up biotic blue as I increase its mass for a very heavy heel drop.

It connects right in the Yawg's face, forcing it to stumble. Its face cracks, so I let the other shoe drop now that I know it's effective. I am rewarded to see the thing's face shatter like a pair of over-chapped lips, and several bloody wounds pop open. Wounds that the flammable liquid I drenched it in seep into.

I carefully use my omni-tool to light the bread on fire, then drop it in the Yawg's face as I land, jump back, and move away. The icy fiend's armor still manages to regenerate, but not nearly as fast where it's on fire.

Not wanting to keep up my biotics any longer than I have to, I pull out my pistol, flick the light on, and proceed to unload in its face. I'm forced to run around its wild swings a bit, but my ability to do so was never in question. As I run about, however, I see that the places the creature stepped froze a bit.

_Good thing I didn't try punching it, huh? Looks like I'll need new shoes, though._

Eventually, the flames start to die down. Even with all the shots I fired, and I fired plenty, it didn't die due to its regeneration and armor.

_I need to end this in one shot. Soon, while its armor is still weakened._

I switch my pistol to my left hand and keep firing.

I draw my sword from my hip with my right.

I step inside its wild right arm swing, rearing back my blade.

I see recognition in its many eyes.

I stab it through the left-bottom one, straight into the brain and out the back of the head.

I try to rip my sword out to the right, but the blade is frozen and breaks from the force.

I jump back before the body falls on me.

I wonder for a moment what it was recognizing before it died as I lean on an upturned table.

...

I stare at the corpse as the flames fade, and wonder what the hell is going on here.

I grip my broken blade, and wonder if I should have given it a chance.

* * *

I go down the stairs and into the armory with no further incident. The emergency lights still haven't come on, so I'm a little worried that I'm running out of time. Not having the lights on is making me jumpier than usual, especially since Hojo's 'specimens' are loose.

However, what has really been getting to me is the silence. Aside from my footsteps, which could only be heard in this soundless environment anyway, there is nothing. Not even the hum of electronics that are just about an ever-present feature of a space-faring society.

With the silence and the darkness, it's hard for me to not think. Rather, it's hard for me to not brood. With no sights or sounds to distract me, I often end up thinking useless things. I'll dwell on the past, and things that cannot be changed. Even though I know this, distracting myself so I avoid it can be difficult.

Still, I can't help but wonder if I should have killed them. The Pika-thing would have died anyway, and the Yawg are generally blood-thirsty, but some part of me still doesn't understand why I had to kill them.

The Pika-thing, at least, was innocent. Right? Who am I to decide who lives and dies? I could have done more than a mercy killing, right?

Oh shit, I performed mercy killings.

Some part of me says it was all I could do. That trying to do more would have gotten me killed. Unfortunately, it does not have majority voice right now.

_Face it, you just wanted to kill something._

I didn't. Shut up. I'm trying to write to the-

_Reader, who may or may not exist. Yeah, yeah. You and your excuses. Just admit that you [**liked it**/loved it/wanted it/enjoyed it/craved it]._

I didn't. I don't like killing. I'm not a [**monster**/sin/evil/abomination/shitstain/murderer].

_You sure? You don't seem so sure._

I'm sure.

_Really?_

Yes. I'm sure. I take no pleasure in killing.

_The denial is strong in this one._

Shut up! I'm not! I'm not!

_Not what?_

... I don't know. Now shut up.

I let out a quiet sigh, because I know I've done it again. Getting lost in my thoughts like that, arguing with myself, bursting out shouting at my own mind to shut up... It isn't necessarily anything new by now. I just try not to think about how it could have been worse.

After collecting myself, I put on my armor and leave the armory to check the rest of the station. Traveling through requires me to manually open unpowered doors, but it isn't a big issue, aside from implying that there is even less power in the station than before. What is an issue, however, is that I've found lots of trashed areas so far and no people. Combined with the fact that my omni-tool's attack programs work but any of the things involving frequencies, from scans to comms, are shot, I'm beginning to suspect this is a test of some sort.

Who or what is being tested, though?

I almost reach for my sword, but the memory of it snapping enters my mind. I groan loudly, realizing I'll have to backtrack to the armory if I want a new weapon. I continue on, tired of moving backwards.

* * *

It is somewhat unfortunate that I don't know where the station's power controls are. I could have this whole predicament fixed up fairly quickly if I knew, but I don't. I was never given a full map of the place, and, as good a hacker as I am, map data of any kind is locked up tight. I'm guessing they have coordinates and starcharts that I could use to escape in ther-

I've spent the last fifty minutes just wandering the place, trying to figure out where to go. Why haven't I gone to the hangar and tried to escape yet? I could definitely use a fighter's missiles to blow open the bay doors.

Oh yeah, because launch procedures require power. The clamps holding it in place is too tough for me to break without some heavy weapons. Which would be in the armory.

... I already decided, though. I will stay with Cerberus until I can join the Alliance. That is what I decided so long ago.

_I said I'll do it, so I'll do it. That's all there is to it._

Forcing open another door, I enter a new room. I point my pistol's light around, taking immediate note of all the chest high metal crates. Good cover, but I am more concerned with all the large cargo crates. Who knows what's in one of those?

The crates are stacked high and long, like a brick wall that stands almost forty feet tall and thirty feet wide. In front of them is the area with chest high crates, though they aren't much a concern. What is a concern is the gaping hole in the farmost cargo crate.

As I get closer I can start to hear the sound of electricity running in the boxes, something I definitely wouldn't have caught under normal circumstances. Upon further inspection, the broken edges of the hole are frozen and brittle. _Maybe where the Ice Yawg came from?_

I take a moment to check the high ceiling, walls, and four corners of the room for nasty surprises. Finding nothing, I poke my head into the broken metal cargo crate. I see... a miniaturized containment unit. Like the ones at the STG base on Sur'kesh, only with half as much living space.

_This must be the holding room for Hojo's 'specimens.'_

Funnily enough, the unit still has power. Not much, since this one is broken, but I'm betting the other ones are actually working. Why put the containment units in cargo crates, though? Are they being shipped somewhere?

Hrm... Slight moral dilemma; free them, kill them, or leave them be? On one hand, I would be sabotaging Hojo's work if I do either of the first two, which would be extremely satisfying. On the other, they would know it was me since I'm apparently the only one the entire station right now. If I get in trouble, they may take me off the deep cover mission, which I have confirmed to be into the Alliance Navy.

Screw with Hojo, or keep my time here to a minimum? Hrm... It really is a hard choice.

I hear a rattling sound from above me. A heavy beating, some hard shifting. I look up to figure out just what is making that noise, only to see one of the crates about to fall on top of me.

I fling myself back to avoid being squashed, the crate hitting the ground with a loud clang. I hear a ripping, tearing sound coming from inside it. I feel my focus returning, and some part of me quietly hates how I can't seem to properly focus my thoughts whenever I want.

I move next to cover, just in case I need it, keeping my gun trained on the box. I wait for what seems like a long time, just waiting for whatever is in there to pop out. Call it instinct, call it gamer logic, call it whatever, but I'm certain that something in that box wants to kill me.

A small creaking sound is my only warning before the box explodes outward, shards and shrapnel from both the metal crate and the containment unit inside flying everywhere. The creature to burst out, although I've never seen it in any Mass Effect game or fan work, is far from unfamiliar. With its scaly green skin, long sinewous neck, razor sharp claws, and leathery, bat-like wings, I knew exactly what I was staring down.

It stands on its two hind legs with its wings wide, still raised up from busting out of its cage. It sees me, who is standing almost thirty feet away by now, and drops to all fours. Rearing back its head for a moment as it draws in breath, then leans into its loud, horrifying roar.

"Dragon!" I shout on reflex, jumping behind cover when it pull back its head, just in case it was attempting to use a breath attack. I don't know if it is a creature created by Hojo or an alien species that Cerberus found, but I really don't want to fight a dragon. I mean, what level would I be right now? I don't think I'm ready yet!

The dragon roars again, but does not move. I peak around the corner at it, and it looks at me with fury. It roars once more, but does not attack.

_Is it... is it trying to talk to me?_

I take off my helmet to show my face, and step out from cover to face it. My brow furrowed as I try to discern its intent. I am, unfortunately, not an expert in dragon body language.

Very unfortunate, because it lunges faster than I thought it capable. I try to block the blow with the helmet in my hands, but it gets a large gash torn in it without slowing the dragon's talons at all. I barely manage to sidestep out of the way, backing up quickly to the dragon's right flank.

I realize I made a mistake instantly. I thought it was trying to talk, but it wasn't. It was challenging me to combat, and I was foolish to take its mighty, majestic cry for anything else. For what reason it wants to fight, I do not know. All I know is that it wants a fight. Maybe even a duel from the way it waited for me to come out of my hiding place. My taking a stand in front of it could be considered a ready position for a duel... or a defiant position, challenging its bestial authority.

For some reason, that makes me hot. My blood is pumping, and I'm struggling to keep from smiling. It wasn't like this with the rat or the Yawg, though that might be due to their surprising entrances. I don't like being taken by surprise.

This is very different. Somehow, it is very different, and I like it. Maybe its because I'm about to have a straight fight instead of hiding and attacking from the shadows. I mean, that dragon has some large nostrils. I don't think I can escape now that I've lost my helmet. It could likely smell my hair.

_Ahh, who am I kidding? I just want to fight a dragon._

I jab at its scaly side twice with my right hand, but its tough hide doesn't even budge. I almost step in for a heavier attack when I see its muscles twitch. I take that as a sign and leap away, barely soon enough to see one of its claws zipping past my face in a ferocious backhand. It spins with the swing in order to face me, its other claw up and ready to come down before the other has even touched the floor. I'm still in mid-air.

Knowing I won't be able to twist out of the way, I draw up some biotic power and Throw myself backward. I run into one of the many piles of stacked metal crates, toppling them on top of me. It hurts and I'm winded, but the armor took most of the damage. I think I may need new armor soon, if this keeps up. Kinetic Barriers don't block physical attacks under a certain speed.

_Note to self: Learn ME1 Stasis next. Temporary invulnerability would be nice._

I holster my pistol, cutting off my only source of light, and grab two of the metal containers by the handle. Holding one by the wide edge handle so that I can rest it long down my forearm, I pull on my biotics while I still have the cover of being piled on by crates.

I hear the dragon getting closer through the pile, its breath and footsteps sounding aggressive. When it gets a little closer, I burst up from the crates, biotics flaring so that I have enough light to see. Which just so happens to be the dragon's claw once again descending upon me, even as the other rends the crates still below me and sweeps the others aside.

_It's smart. It's cutting off avenues of attack even as it makes attacks of its own._

I swing the crate in my right hand, deflecting the blow to my side while raising the other crate to block overhead, wielding the latter much like a shield. While some power is bled from the strike, the dragon's claw still powers downward, and smashes against the floor loudly. Now the dragon's face is in clear view, but outside my arm's reach. Fortunately, I'm not lacking in weapons, improvised as they may be.

I pull my shield tight in front of my body and move my hand from its handle, tightening it into a fist against the cold metal. Then I pump it full of mass increasing biotic energy and let it fly, grinning as it rams solidly into the dragon's scaly face, sending it reeling back a few paces.

I grab a new crate as soon as I land and spring forward to press the attack. I manage to get three solid hits in on its head before I'm forced to dodge its snapping jaws. I can't strike in time, so I pull in my shield to take the blow for me. I get treated to the sight of what would have happened to my body if I had been caught in the dragon's maw, and it isn't pleasant.

I hear movement behind me, so I maneuver to put both the dragon and this new creature to my front while getting a new shield. I, of all people, should know how effective flanking can be.

Deflecting a blow from the dragon's wing as I circle around, the other creature is revealed to be another Pika-thing. I throw the not-shield box at it, crushing its skull.

_Critical hit!_

The dragon is much more worrisome than the rat thing, in my opinion. I mean, I can deliver strikes that cleave a man in two if done right. Just throwing a metal box completely crushed the rat, but this thing hasn't even taken any damage yet. I know I definitely hit it much harder than the Pika-thing, so it's insanely tough.

Not to mention how fast, agile, and dexterous it is. Here I am fighting a friggin' dragon, and I don't even have time to get in more than two or three ineffectual blows before I'm on the defensive again. I again must make note of how this thing is most definitely _not_ a mindless beast.

It is pressing the attack, has me on the defensive. It controls the flow of the battle so far, and that's bad for me. I need to find a weak point that I can actually hit. I want to go for the eyes, but that's a no go. No openings right now. If I had just grabbed a friggin' sword, maybe I could go for the mouth. Stabbing it in the brain will kill it quick.

I can't make a move before I'm certain I'll hit, though. If I miss, it'll know what I'm up to and then I'll have even less opportunities to take it out.

_Shit, I hear more creatures. This is going to suck. ... Though I say that, it seems I can't keep from smiling. Ha._

* * *

Dear Reader,

So, yeah. This is shaping up to be a tough fight, and I need to concentrate. More enemies incoming.

Sorry for cutting the scene, but I really don't want to die. Maybe when I get better at multi-tasking I can give you a better fight scene, but for now... Yeah. One sec.

* * *

A searing wave of flame runs over the Ice Yawg and I. I shield my head with the crate on my arm and backpedal hard, letting the Yawg take the brunt of the attack. I like my hair a bit too much to let it catch fire.

* * *

Anyway, I'll probably use this fight in a flashback sequence some time? Maybe? If I don't die?

Maybe I'll just come back and insert it lat- HOLY SHIT! My hand is on fire!

Er, later. Talk later.

Cheung

* * *

Up, down, left, right, forward, back, center. Strike, dodge, block, parry, counter. Footing, reach, distance, territory, form. It seem that even a creature this size, a dragon from some unknown place in the universe, understands the basis of martial arts. That is, to defeat your opponent as efficiently as possible.

_Although in this case, it might be 'destroy,' rather than defeat._

I've been fighting it for the past twenty minutes, and I have used my biotics for too long. All the muscles in my body are burning, but my boiling blood demands I fight some more. I don't question it. It's the only thing driving me to keep fighting right now. My mind is tired, and I know I'll slip up soon.

I've hammered this thing with everything I have on me. My pistol didn't work, and got destroyed sometime. My punches only rattle it a little, but don't actually hurt it. My kicks are just as effective as my punches, and the thing can't be choked. Unarmed tissue shearing attacks are ineffective againt it scales, and soft penetration strikes were made for combat against humans, so those don't work at all. I even tried increasing the mass of a shit ton of boxs and dropped it on the green monstrosity, but it got up little worse for wear.

It's smart, too. We both know it has a weakpoint somewhere, but it doesn't give me any chances to actually find it. The only vulnerabilities I can see are the inside of the mouth and the eyes, but I haven't had the opportunity to hit either. Too damn smart.

I tried to retreat to go get a sword, but the dragon's persistence in defeating me hasn't really given me a chance to. We've gone smashing through the station, tearing up hallways, other rooms, and even some of Hojo's experimental creatures. However, I haven't had the opening to properly rearm myself, and the route to the armory has been collapsed.

Most of my armor has been destroyed during the fighting as well, which is very unfortunate. It was one of the few things keeping me from being lit on fire by the dragon's breath attack. I've managed to avoid getting my hair burnt, but every inch of the rest of me has been burnt and regenerated at least once. Which, yes, means I am near naked. Shut up.

Still, I can tell that the dragon is getting tired too. The fire breath seems to take a lot out of it, though that's hardly surprising. We're in the hangar bay now, and three or four shuttles have already been trashed. We've taken ready stances across from each other, and are carefully watching the other for openings.

I've been at the disadvantage the entire fight, except in regards to mobility. Even then, the dragon has kept up really well for something almost twelve feet tall on its hind legs. Between overusing my biotics, being lit on fire, regenerating from various wounds that just so happen to include being lit on fire, and fighting a friggin' DRAGON of all things for twenty minutes straight, I'm tired and sore in ways I can't even begin to describe.

On the other hand, the dragon is in a similar position. Not actually damaged at the moment, overused its special ability, and been pummeled over and over by a fly it can't hit. Its been breaking through walls left, right, and center, and the crates of explosives I blew up in its face probably didn't help it any, either.

In its eyes I can see the mental fatigue that this kind of fight creates. Every moment is spent thinking about the next few moments, the next few moves. How to damage the enemy, how to mitigate damage to yourself, how to stay alive. It isn't like a firefight, where a guy can take a two or three second break behind cover. There is a moment's reprieve, maybe, every five minutes of straight combat, and that's it.

We are both at our limit.

Neither of us can perform any elaborate tricks or maneuvers. I can't move as well as I'd like, and the dragon's reaction time is slower than it was. One of us will certainly land a deathblow in the next attack.

_And I still have promises to keep. I won't die here._

I see a twitch in the neck muscles of the dragon. A twitch I've come to recognize as it preparing its fire breath. Not that it isn't hot enough in here, what with all but three of the shuttles burning and/or broken.

I almost hesitate. I have no good plan, no avenues of attack that are proven to be truly effective, and if I'm actually wrong about this thing's stamina then I'll be left wide open after my next, and final, attack. I likely won't be able to move after that, my everything is just too hot and tired.

_But I am made of Fire._

I lunge forward, my striking hand's fingers pushed tightly together so as to form a spearhead. The dragon opens its mouth, licks of flame already starting to form. I alter my approach slightly to the left, just enough to keep my head out of the fiery stream as I continue charging.

The fire hits me, extreme heat washing over my skin again even as my right arm, shoulder, and chest are heavily burned. I don't stop. I have a target in my sights, and I will not stop before hitting it for anything. I push through the heat, the pain, the need for my body to rest and heal. I step past my own weak self and leave it to burn, because I know that that 'me' won't get things done.

I get close enough to the dragon's face that it feels threatened, raising a claw against me. I jump toward its mouth, the source of the flame. It swiftly brings down its sharp claw, intending to crush me once and for all. I thrust my hand forward, stabbing into and through the roof of its mouth.

Its claw comes down, impaling me through the gut and pinning me to the ground. The flames die, and my burnt hand is jerked from the inside of the dragon's head, somehow splattering my sweaty face with blood and grey matter. My biotics fail, my body too fatigued to keep them up any longer. Breathing wracks my dry throat with pain.

... Well, shit.

* * *

groggy... nnnnggg...

Capitalization. I need to do that...

"Doctor, you ... two of each. Howev...nly saw one set during the operat..."

Hnn? Mranda? Crap, spelling.

"... quite fascinat... implanted a gland from... when organ rendered non-functional, takes imprint of orga... makes a new one, using the flesh ... old one as fuel!"

Hojo, youra rat ass bastard. Rather, you're a rat ass bastard.

"So it's more like a ... than actually having two sets of ...ke a krogan would. Sounds unnecassarily dangerous."

I've had 'nough danger for the day. Can I sleep in peace, please? I can't evn write correctly.

"... more than enough data. I'll be implementing... As long as... the procedure... don't worry, I'm a genius after all. Project Chimera will..."

Tired of liss'nin' to Hojo-yuck. I'ma sleep now. G'night.

* * *

Status Report: CB-PDH-PB-2K175-S0113R233

To: TIM

From: DRH

Recent Developments: Subject Zero-Thirteen was finally injured enough to see if the 'secondary organs' kicked in, which they did. As I explained in Report 026, the subject does not actually have two sets of its organs true Krogan would. Instead, I implanted a special gland from Specimen D99 into each of Zero-Thirteen's internal organs save the brain and bones. This gland is actually, like the nanites in the subject's body, dispersed throughout the organ, acting like a sensory net which triggers upon irrepairable organ failure. It then proceeds to devour the useless, dying organ in order to help fuel the creation of a new copy of said organ. Truly a beautiful work of nature.

Unfortunately, this process is hard on the body, and the subject was suffering from extreme exhaustion by the time the process started. The issue with exhaustion and these kinds of processes is that, while the devouring of the dying organ and the creation of the new one happens simultaneously, it still does not provide enough energy to make it occur quickly or without proper nutrition. It was because of this that I heightened its individual cell nutrient and energy efficiency. With that, it could go much for longer with vital proteins and nutrients in storage, which I had spread throughout the entire body so that it could always be easily accessed. I was even kind enough to not include a hump!

And then what does the specimen do? It goes and overuses its failed biotics for twenty minutes straight, burning through almost all its resources in one go. Nearly burned out its nerves via biotics, too. If the recovery team hadn't arrived when they did, my specimen would have died from devouring itself and I would have been deprived my samples. That is simply unacceptable!

I've taken the data from its injury, tweaked its DNA, and replaced all the old organs with new one that have more efficient Cannibal Organ Replacement Glands. I adjusted its net chemical energy gain as you suggested, so that it absorbs two-fifths of the Calories eaten instead of the standard human's one-fifth. Fine work, if I do say so myself. It should be able to pass as a non-biotic now, without actually depriving it of those capabilities, flawed as they may be. Plus, it should allow the use of the organ replacement once a week, provided it doesn't die and gets proper nutrition so that it can grow a new gland in addition to the nutrient rich organ. Further testing will be needed to be certain.

Also, you may like to know that I have not only lost all remote access to Zero-Thirteen's nanites, but someone has erased all my recordings from them. I believe we have a mole, and that OML is the one behind this sin against science. I may be mistaken, but I know you will take proper action regardless.

* * *

Mission Report: CB-P983T-8458A42E

To: TIM

From: OML

Primary Objective: Perform advanced level testing of The Cat's combat readiness. [Status: Complete: See Primary Mission Details]

Secondary Objective: Gather Data on Prototypes [Status: Ongoing: See Secondary Mission Details]

Primary Mission Details: The Cat was forced to work with a distinct disadvantage, being without power in the entire station, any intel on her opponents, or backup. She proceeded to eliminate twelve low-level threats, seven mid-level threats, and two high-level threats while attempting to terminate the specimen that was procured upon a return visit to the facility mentioned in the following reports.

[See Attached File: CB-P122A-6364A12E]

[See Attached File: A12E-45-62-93-S54]

The Cat was critically wounded by S54, although she killed it in the same moment. She is expected to make a full recovery.

As for actually engaging, The Cat used her biotics rather than her omni-tool as a source of light. While it tired her out quickly, it gave her a greater light source and enabled the usage of both hands. Upon reviewing the footage, I believe this would have been the correct course of action once her pistol was destroyed.

Secondary Mission Details: Unable to get her to use any prototypes yet, and security around all her data as increased by a still unknown amount.

Personal Assessment: There is something wrong with her. Her sword broke early on, but she did not brother to replace it. When asked after the fact, her reasoning was, "I wanted to move forward."

There appears to have a deeper meaning, but I am unable to tell what it might be at this time. I have considered the possibility that she is undergoing some sort of personal crisis due to her difficultly in letting go of guilt. I would like to doubt that is in her nature to let that interfere with a serious life or death situation, but previous records of her behavioral patterns suggest otherwise. Regardless of what it was, she seems to be past it now.

It should also noted that she eliminated all threats save one without much use of conventional weaponry, including S54. Total count is one killed by Monomolecular Blade, eight by inprovised weapon, and the rest by unarmed martial arts. Many of the threats she targeted had very few wounds, but were killed via blows that destroy the target's brain, heart, or neck. She has displayed lethal efficiency, but would have been better with a blade. She knows this, but refuses to comment on it other than to assure me that it is not an issue.

Overall, she seems to handle solo combat well. I have begun the increased firearm training regimen, and suggest team missions from now on to give her leadership experience. It will no doubt be useful for her infiltration.

If nothing else, we should begin preparing for The Cat to betray us if her loyalty cannot be secured. She already has at least one stronghold on the Citadel, and could likely make her own escape if she tried. The forces here are not sufficient to deal with her while I am away.

* * *

Dear Reader,

It's been a while since I last said or wrote anything, so sorry for the delay. I've been busy after fighting that dragon thing.

Been taking care of what I can, handed off most of my business/money-making efforts to Left Hand. Business is good. Got cover for making tech, medicine, and weapons. Should be ready to start building starships in a few years.

Been doing a lot more missions and training, too. It... it helps me get used to fighting. To killing. I went through proper desensitizing courses, but... I still don't see how other Self-Insert guys and girls get used to it so quickly. Humans adapt, yeah, but... seeing what I do in such great detail, then never truly being able to forget? It's maddening. It's saddening. It's... It's not fun.

According to what I remember of chapter twelve of Massive Shock 2, Splicer spent six years doing it just to survive. Will I end up like that in six years? Will killing just become a means to an end? I don't really want to think about this, but I _am_ going to need to kill again if my plans are to bear any fruit.

... Anyway, I've been doing a lot of thinking about life, death, and what both mean. What it is to kill, what it is to judge, what it is to 'be strong.' What I want, where I want to be, how I want to get there.

I just can't seem to accept that I did the right thing, made the right call, even when I know I did. That, I suppose, isn't too uncommon. The hard part, really, is trying to accept that I did it in the first place, that any consequences of my orders are _mine_. I've always been bad with responsibility. So... I've been trying really hard to find the balance between 'I killed them' and 'I did what I had to.'

Maybe it isn't very easy to understand, but I... I just feel like it would be wrong to brush off the deaths I've caused, the killing I've done, just because I was too unstable to handle it. Too weak to handle it. If being strong means I'll be killing people, I can't just be strong in my body, but strong in my heart.

I suppose it isn't anything new. I cycle through these phases a lot nowadays, especially when I come out of an ordeal that I don't know if I'll recover from, emotionally.

Mentally and emotionally, I seem to still be broken, but I'm getting to be mostly stable. Since most of my 'writing' to you is just me making a mental narrative, I suppose that means my writing style is also stablizing, although I don't actually know how it is all pieced together on your end.

Speaking of, I wonder if my brother found this story, back home? If so, does he know exactly what happened to bring me here? Does he have answers? Does he want answers? Has he shown it to my sister, or our parents?

I think, mayhaps, I may think too much. Worry too much. I know I am either doing too much of it or too little, and still have trouble finding balance. I know that either one could end up destroying me, and make me something else. ... I've already experienced both, and let me say that the former, not thinking enough, leads to breaking your... everything.

The latter always seems to be burning me out, mentally and emotionally, and I often want to just stop, lie down, and die. ... However, I am made of Fire, Shadows, and Lies. I've made several promises that I refuse to budge on. I will burn, until there is nothing left of me. When that happens, when 'I' am all gone and burned to dust, no one will ever have to know. The truth shall be taken by the shadows and hidden by lies.

That is all there is to it.

Sincerely,

Kei Cheung

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so... thoughts?**

**And before I get someone saying that my SI is overpowered, I want you to remember that anyone who is halfway decent with a sniper rifle is deadly. Period. In the Mass Effect universe, where said sniper rifles are _mass accelerators_ that fire off grains of sand capable of turning your head into bunch of flesh and blood soup, distance disadvantages are an even greater challenge.**

**I want people to remember that Cheung still is only properly trained with pistols. Even then, she isn't that great a shot. I've already got several complaints about this, and I want to say this here and now:**

_**If there is something you just really don't like about things so far, leave a review and give me ten chapters to redeem myself.**_

**I'm not asking something unreasonable here, and I normally wouldn't say anything this early in the game... but I've gotten enough PMs to make me slightly upset. I mean, this is my FOURTH FRIGGIN' CHAPTER. Just what are you expecting from me? If I were a good enough writer to have some bitchin' awesome super story by my fourth chapter, I'd be making money getting published instead of writing fanfiction.**

**So, yes. I just want to cut this off before it becomes a major issue. Just follow the instructions in the italics, and we'll be good.**

***heavy breath* ****... Thank you for your time, and thank your for reading. Sorry for ranting.**

**Mmm... Yeah. That is all.**

**-Maxxus Herald**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Heyyo! Back again! Sorry for the long wait. I had to do some writing on my other fics in order to clear up my writers block.**

**Plus, the Neverwinter MMO happened, and I finally got ahold of Diablo III. ... and because I was re-watching the Ironman movies.**

**Anyway, I thank you for your patience.**

**A few things before we get rolling again:**

**1) I may have over-reacted at the end of my last chapter, and not given a clear explanation. For those wondering, Cheung ****_is _****slightly overpowered. However, I don't believe it is by a great enough margin that it is incredibly unbalanced. Lack of firearms skill, lack of powers, the need for secrecy, and her own mental state balance things out against anyone who really matters. I mean, really... any difficult opponent will likely leave her half dead... oh wait! Dragon. Anyway, I will ****_not _****make her so powerful that she'll break the system, but I do intend her to be able to stand equal to N7 operatives. Which means she's going to be overpowered anyway, because N7's are friggin' beasts.**

**2) Everything up until the end of the next chapter is all me testing out different things and setting up Cheung as a character. If that's too much Cheung for you, I apologize. I merely wish to get my writing skills up to snuff before actually writing the cool stuff.**

**The first chapter was to test writing in general. The second to test exposition and world building. The third chapter I wrote to test writing a deteriorating mind. Four was for comabt. Five is an attempt to roll a bit of what tested before and roll in an extra character or two. Any advice would be greatly appreciated.**

**3) This chapter is shorter than the last two, since I didn't really want to wait any longer before posting something. If I don't keep a certain pace, I'll likely stop writing again due to distractions being... distracting. Dun dun du~uun!**

**So, yeah. … Yeah. … Let's go!**

**Disclaimer: Ownership of Mass Effect, I do not have.**

* * *

From: Boss

To: Left Hand

These numbers are pretty amazing. Good work. =D

I'm glad that those games I remade are doing so well, but... I know no one else can tell, but they just aren't the same. Something... something isn't the same, and it sits ill with me. They lack something, and I don't think I can recreate whatever it is.

Thank you for pointing out the problems with my recordings. I never really thought that speaking with different accents might offend someone, so I'll work on that. ... Though, I'm still slightly confused. What do you mean that there's no such thing as a Brooklyn accent? Did it die out? If so, when? Why? I mean, it was just a small parody of a real one, but...

Er, I didn't do much research on New York City. Get back to me on that? My extranet connection is kinda crappy, what with being out in deep space.

As for my actual speech, I do '_actually_ do that.' Don't laugh! I know you're laughing as you read this! Just because I can't keep a steady manner of speaking doesn't mean you need to tease me about it! .

I've listed the ones I know I slip between, in case you want to look them up. I know how much you've taken a liking to Earth history.

-Late 20th & early 21st century 'country boy,' mostly due to listening to that music so much. I don't know why people hate on my Country music when they're willing to listen to Rap or Hip-Hop from the same era. Don't _all_ of those genres have a bit of a blanket funny accent? I know we all have our own tastes, but there's no good reason to shove your dislike, or even hatred, down my throat. If you're going to tell me, at least have the decency to be polite about it. =[

... And no, I don't say Y'all. Often.

-Chinese accent, plain and simple. I've been learning Chinese, both Mandarin and Cantonese, in my spare time for the past few years, and it has recently manifested as an accent.

-Standard U.S. Midwest accent. I have trouble saying Washington instead of Warshington sometimes, but otherwise normal American English.

... Which isn't normal at all, given its history of butchering other languages for their words, but... Eh, whatevs.

Stop laughing. I know you, Lefty. You just laughed. You're in trouble now.

Kidding, kidding. I don't care. It's just fun to tease you.

Listen, The Thing is going to happen soon. Specifically, Thing-13L175. Make sure everyone is safe, okay?

-Boss

P.S.: See if you can't procure me a Krogan Warhammer. I want to see if I can fit that into my current project.

* * *

"Critical Hit! Massively Effective!"

Chapter: 005

Space Batman Exists: Where is Space Arkham? I Need to Check In

_It's Hojo's lab again. I don't like this place, but I tolerate it. Plus, hopefully I'll learn something important that can help me down the road. Regardless of inhumanity, Hojo _is_ a genius._

_"So doc, explain to me why you needed an 'unmodified specimen' for what you did to me? Why couldn't any ol' average joe do?" I pipe up from my place on the examination table._

_The crap-bag scoffs at me. "You don't need to know."_

Damn. I'll need to play to his ego, won't I?

_"Aw... But I want to know! I'll never figure it out on my own, and you're a genius! I know you're smart enough to make it so even lil' ol' me understand the parts I would never get otherwise~"_

_Hojo eyes me warily for a moment or two, and then turns his back to me. He starts pacing as he speaks._

_"Years ago, I got the chance to examine a Prothean Beacon. Fascinating artifacts. Wish I had gotten more time with it. I don't know why the Alliance couldn't let the Council wait another hour or two."_

Yeah... I don't think you would ever understand. After all, in another world, you let the planet almost get destroyed just to validate your research. Punk.

_"There were many other factors, but it was that particular artifact from which I came up with an important hypothesis. 'Protheans could read the genetic markers of others, checking things such as ancestry and memories.' It's much more complicated than that, but you probably wouldn't understand it unless I simplified it to this level."_

_I almost gasp aloud, but fear on how interrupting him would end up keeps me quiet. Also, I don't really want him to know how right he is._

_"When I first started this Project, there were five specimens. All failures," he says casually, as if human experimentation is as common and mundane as the concept of clothing._

_"When I checked my notes, the procedures were sound, but when I tried it again the subjects ended up failures regardless. Then I remembered my hypothesis. If the Protheans could read a person's memories from another's genetic data, then surely human DNA is still far more complex than originally thought._

_I tried plenty of things. I won't waste my time trying to explain it all since you would never understand. In the end, I came to the conclusion that all of humanity's mucking about with their own genome interferes with the splicing in of other species DNA, on a level that only the Protheans would know at this point. I needed a control group. I needed a clean slate. I needed _you_."_

_I am stunned. Not only did he run an experiment on **living humans**, but the basis of the experiment he ran on _me_ was a hypothesis that has no data to back it up in any capacity. He was... just up and playing with lives..._

Oh God... he said 'control group,' right? If I'm the control group, then who are the variables?

_The color drains from my face. "Hojo... I thought you said that no one died for what you did to me. What happened to those who came before?"_

_He has gone back to tinkering with his datapad by now, and it takes me yelling his name to make him stop ignoring me._

_"Tsh. They're over there somewhere," he says, waving his hand dismissively toward the labs._

_I am not brave enough to think about what that could mean. I choose a different question instead._

_"You implied that there are others after me. If I'm the control, who is the variable? What are you doing to them? How many have you killed by now?"_

_I accidentally let slip some of my fear into my voice, not that Hojo notices. He was never very big on caring about the emotions of others. He continues without even looking at me._

_"Oh that? We just cloned you a few dozen times and have been working from there. No need for anyone to get upset, either. It's not like fetuses are people, after all."_

_I'm stunned senseless, and not a thought enters my head for... more than a moment. More than several seconds, less than several minutes, though I don't know exactly how long. However, the first thing I can bear to think is a single word._

Inhuman.

_It's so scary... I know what he's doing is wrong, whatever it is. I want to stop it. I want to stop __**him.**_

_I would get killed if I tried, though. I don't want to die, however selfish that might be. I can't see clones of me appreciating this either, but if they are raised as tank babies, who knows what they'd be convinced is normal? This, of course, assumes that they get to live that long._

_There are a whole slew of things wrong with everything I just learned. All of it bad, every bit of it inhuman. Every bit of it monstrous._

_Maybe just as bad, though, is that I don't know who is more inhuman at this point. Is it Hojo... or me?_

_The scenery starts to warp and fade, like someone couldn't decide which scene transition animation to use and just decided to go with both. I feel a great sorrow in my chest, somewhat similar to if my heart got thrown into one of those endless falling dreams. Then... I boil._

_My blood boils. My flesh burns. My insides heat until they fry themselves, and the inky black nothing surrounding me is set aflame._

_This fire consuming my entire being... is __**RAGE!**_

* * *

{Time's a funny thing. Have I already been running missions for almost a year now?}

I know the answer, of course. It isn't like I can forget anything, but it's comfortable to think like that. Rather, in that manner. It feels familiar.

I've shaped up fairly well, I think. When I compare myself now to the 'me' of a year ago, I can safely say that I'm glad. The fires of battle burned away my indecisiveness. Burned away my self-pity, burned away further weakness.

If only I could say the same about my guilt. Then again, that's what shadows are for. Hiding things until the sun comes up and burns at them again.

Unfortunately, it also awakened something. The Krogan in me, I think. It's great in that there's always this... heat, just under my skin. Reminds me that I am Fire, and that I am strong. The downside is that it makes misdirection, hiding my emotions, and straight-up lying more difficult.

"Oooo~ Li dididi~ didididi di~ dum~" I sing, improvising a tune as I lightly step around the kitchen.

I'm more confident now. Maybe something to fight was all I really needed. I mean, I've always been a bit of a loner, so perhaps isolating myself wasn't as much of an issue as I thought. It isn't like I haven't been doing it nearly all my life. Then again, maybe the problem is that I've been doing it nearly all my life. Hmm.

_/Ah, well... I'm always analyzing stuff anyways. There's a chance I did myself wrong. I mean, who really fully understands themselves? Very few, that's who./_

A light ding hits my ears, letting me know the pie is done. As I move for the oven mitts, I marvel at how the smell of a hand-made apple pie raises my spirits. Just another thing I've missed doing.

Just one of the things I can actually take time to do, now that I've figured out how to manage my worrying.

It was pretty hard. If I were to answer anyone honestly when they ask, I was an emotional wreck for a long time. It was stupid, and I really don't want to think about it because I was being stupid. Worrying needlessly about things I can't change, letting myself get stuck in the past for days on end.

It was pretty pathetic.

It wasn't until about three and a half months ago that I realized that, yes, I _do_ like to fight. Well, more like admitted it to myself. I still don't particularly care for killing, but I [just ignore it/**try not to think about it**/don't care anymore].

In any case, the point is that it was a huge revelation for me. I realized that I was trying to be someone I'm not, even as I was trying to be myself. As if that isn't confusing enough, I already knew who I was and was constantly denying myself.

_/How's that for being a Mary-Sue? It's like all my problems are mental, I swear!/_

Although, most of my problems _are_ mental. Hell, _I'm_ mental, I'm sure of it. The real problem with my problems, out of all my problems, is controlling my problems. Things tend to get problematic when I can't, and that's just too much of a bother to deal with.

Hence why I have taken up cooking. It's relaxing, tastes good when I don't screw up, and gives me time to talk to myself without looking too terribly out of place.

"Hey, is that apple pie I smell?" I hear a shmuck say as he walks down the hall.

"Yeah. Listen, you're trained to shoot things, right? Can you get our kitchen back from Cheung? We need to start on dinner," one of the mess hall cooks replied.

_/... Hmm... Maybe I should stop throwing them out when I want some me time? ... Nahhh!/_

Grinning, I get back to chopping the carrots. Maybe a little too happily, but that's okay.

"Uh, are you nuts? If I try that, the next meat you'll be eating is likely to be _me!_ The woman's insane! Did you hear what she did on her last mission?" the shmuck exclaims, clearly thinking that what happened on my last mission is a big deal.

_/After all, it isn't like I care about what these people think. I don't care what any of them think, because I'm me. That's all I need to be. My plans will function just fine without me micro-managing or worrying over every little thing./_

Of course, 'I don't care' is the lie I tell myself most often. I don't believe it in the slightest, but it makes me feel better regardless. After all, I am made of Fire, Shadows, and Lies. To Lie is to reinforce this self, this existence called Kei Cheung.

"No, I didn't. What happened?" cook number six asks, his voice having horror and curiosity in equal measure.

_/Hmm... That cook is too curious. I may have to break something of his to make sure he doesn't touch my recipe book./_

-He would never find it in the first place. It's fine.-

_/Gnnnrr... Yeah, I guess.../_

I put a batch of cookie dough in the oven while contemplating whether it is the Fire or the Krogan in me that is making me more violent. I discard the line of thought quickly and go back to the cupboard for some white onion.

_/I am who I am who I am./_

"Okay, so there was this group of Krogan mercs. About twenty of them, big and ugly with lots of scars. Been around a while, lived through a lot. She was leading the group up behind them, made orders for flanking in order to create a crossfire. She said she'd be the distraction."

{Oh, I remember how this one ends. One of them was good enough to pin me to the ground. It was a good move, considering how I ripped out both hearts of that other one. Didn't give me any room to move my limbs, and his entire weight kept me from pushing him off. I was completely unable to fully exert my strength, so it would have only taken a few seconds for his buddy with the shotgun to turn my head to mush.}

"You sound like you were on that mission."

I reach about the salt shaker for the soy sauce, but don't find any. This forces me to stop my chopping and actually look around. A few minutes of searching and I find the empty bottle.

_/Hrm... I'll need to buy some more soy sauce. Seems the station is running low. How am I to make proper fried rice with no soy sauce?/_

Realizing I'll have to do without, I go to the refrigerator for eggs.

Yes, I do believe this is worth narrating. Food-stuffs is serious business, you know.

_/Good thing Miranda's been letting me have more freedom recently. Apparently, all I needed to do was tell her how I was going stir crazy with no access to the extranet, complain about all the manga chapters I have to catch up on, and bitch about how hard it is to distract myself from the fact that I'm a murderer without them./_

"I was trying to forget that little tidbit, thank you. Anyway, while the formation was getting set up, she charged straight into the enemy. Didn't even use her pistol, the crazy bitch! Just went up to the twenty-some Krogan and fought them with nothing but her bare hands. One of them pinned her before we got into position."

_/It's something, at least. Although, I believe it was a calculated move rather than a show of faith or trust. Allowing me, a known force with unknown intentions, to gain access to the extranet and therefore my network resources? Mr. TIM must be getting desperate for intel. God knows Left Hand wouldn't let him have anything, so he probably told Lawson to okay it in the chance that they can intercept my messages or group movements./_

{Good to know I chose the right person for my Left Hand.}

"What? How is she even still alive?" the cook exclaims.

{Ah, that reminds me. I need to look into getting a Right Hand soon. I'd prefer a Krogan Warlord, but a strong mercenary veteran might do as well... hmm... Zaeed?}

-No, he's a front-liner like me. The only difference is that I can take to the Shadowy Mastermind Chair and actually fit. Sometimes. Who else is capable? Hrm... I wonder if I could find and steal Petrovsky?-

_/No way! He could be a plant, and I really don't want to have to deal with that. Cerberus is annoying enough as is./_

{Good point.}

I worry slightly about the new voice that's manifested in my head recently, but I brush it off as normal. It isn't an unusual response for a good deal of Self-Inserts who were normal civilians before their reality-shift, so my surprise is minimal. Insanity is only dangerous if you let it change your morals too much, assuming they weren't despot to begin with.

Besides, I already have one. The more the merrier, right?

-Unless it interferes with combat. That could be troublesome.-

{Right.}

"She bit part of his face off, that's how! Just... bit into his cheek and tore off a chunk of flesh! I wouldn't be surprised if she enjoyed it, either!"

-No, I did not enjoy it. Blood isn't exactly my favorite drink, and Krogan flesh tastes kind of like raw beef dipped in poached eggs. Regardless of the implications about protein, and therefore some amazing sexual innuendo, it really wasn't my cup of tea.-

_/...Y'know, I really hope no one is reading this right now. I'm not really bothering to filter or narrate much, so it would probably be very poorly written. Things would be in the wrong place, grouping marks wouldn't be where they are supposed to, and likely a whole slew of things I really don't want to think about./_

{Ugh... Screw it, I have pie. As soon as I finish with the fried rice, I'm going.}

* * *

"Pua~~~!" I sigh, belly and taste buds content with the food I cooked.

I lean back in my chair, in _my own room_, smiling happily. Miranda's been too nice recently, releasing me from restrictions that have been in place for years. I can access the extranet, I can wander about as I please as long as I don't break anything, I can buy luxury items like my comfy armchair, I get seniority rights over other Cerberus punks... If I didn't know she was buttering me up, I'd assume she was buttering me up!

-Fail at humor.-

_/Yeah... that was pretty bad./_

I almost doze off, but a loud 'rap-tap-tapping' brings my attention to the door. With a small hiss, the door slides open before I can ask who it is. Much to my displeasure, it is a certain pale-skinned blond guy who never seems to leave me be.

I frown. "Y'know Charles, normally I'd be punching you in the face right about now. Give me two- no, three good reasons why I shouldn't rip off your head and throw it in your face."

I may be slightly hostile toward him.

Charles smirks, even though he knows it only wants to make me punch him in the face some more. He just makes me mad for some reason, despite the face that I know he's not really a bad guy. So much so that I am liable to screw up what I'm thinking from time to time, and that really upsets me.

"For one, you know you love me-" he starts, only to be cut off by a sharp retort as I glare daggers into his skull.

"No, I don't love you in any capacity. Strike one."

I never said it was witty, just sharp.

The Idiot tries again. "You trust me with your deepest, darkest secrets," he claims, wagging his eyebrows like it's supposed to be charming.

I frown a little harder. "I only trust you to watch my back in battle and watch my back end as I walk away. In any other situation, I can't depend on you at all."

I'd call him out on being a pervert, but that'd just be hypocritical.

With an exaggerated sigh, he opens his mouth a third time. I expect more idiocy. "The Ice Queen told me to escort you to the firing range."

I groan. I groan loudly and with much frustration, squeezing my eyes tightly shut and pinching the bridge of my nose.

_/Guh... the firing range.../_

The firing range has become my hell these past couple months. Ever since Lawson took notice that my accuracy wasn't improving at all, she took it upon herself to make me hit at least seventy percent of the time. So far, none of the instructors she has assigned have managed to teach me something I don't already know. For me, it just seems to be a lack of skill.

That isn't to say I'm _completely_ horrible. I can snipe the shit out of a distant target. Give me a target completely unaware of my presence and put it five-hundred yards down range. Give me fifteen seconds, one minute if the conditions are bad, and a single shot. It won't return with its head.

Sniping while under fire, or when the target is closer than four-hundred yards? I'll hit two out of ten shots, on a good day. None of which will be a shot to the head or vital organs. I really don't know what the deal is.

I'm only a little better with the pistol. Mostly because I can charge right up to most things and unload in their face from point blank range. At twenty yards, however, I'm hitting somewhere between one and three shots out of ten.

Long story short, my shooting frustrates Lawson. So much so that she finally got fed up, and has had me escorted down to the firing range for practice every day that I'm not on a mission. Once I'm down there, I essentially become her bitch for the next two and half hours.

_/And not in the fun way, either./_

I stand up and head off with Charles. He, being his usual chatterbox self, refuses to be quiet. He talks and talks, even when I threaten him with physical violence. In this, he greatly resembles my little brother. Its likely why I can't stand his company, but I'm not certain.

Upon arriving at the firing range, I wave him off. I don't know why, but it would feel wrong if I didn't. Maybe I've become friends with him regardless of my want to beat his face in?

-Hm, something to think about.-

I walk through the doors to the now familiar sight of Miranda taking off a target's head at sixty yards with a pistol. I hurry on over, hoping that I don't make her too mad today. Miranda doesn't really express it outwardly, but I can tell the difference between the beginning of the session and the end, even if others cannot.

I mean, why wouldn't I be able to tell when someone is lying? I admit that she's good. She is very good, even. However, my skill set is geared toward stealth and quick movement, lying and infiltration, thrown weapons and CQC, with a little R&D thrown in the mix. Miranda can do just about everything. She's Perfect.

Which is, ultimately, her problem. Her blessing and her curse. The Origin of her being and the Bane of her existence

Funnily, a lot of people have something similar. A lot of people have something that they both love and hate. Something that they will turn over and over _and over_ in their head, wondering what side of the line the fall on. That is to say, they find a concept they can relate to the core of who they are, then have trouble deciding what to do with it.

In this manner, Miranda is like a kindred spirit to me. She has found her Origin, 'Perfection,' and decided what to do with it. She has, with her own two hands, carved her own path, carrying her own will. Regardless of her reasons or reasoning, she strives for 'Perfection' in almost everything she does.

I respect that. Considering that respect is a concept I can just barely understand, this is a big deal for me. I respect very few people, and even to those I _do_ respect, I have trouble showing it properly. Up until the day I disappeared from my home, I'd always be hounded on to 'show proper respect.' Even now, I still don't quite understand why I would need to show it in the way specified by others, or why I should respect someone based on merits that I don't care about.

It might just be that my understanding of respect is skewed. I'm not certain.

In any case, Lawson's standards are geared toward perfection, or as close as one can get to it. This includes her training me. She doesn't settle for less than the best, but after a month of frustration with me, I'm surprised she hasn't snapped.

By now, I've geared up and started firing at a target ten yards away, which is about when I start missing more than I hit with my pistol. It's frustrating for everyone involved, but the number five seems to be against me. My biotic range is five feet. My accuracy with the pistol drops drastically once I try to shoot for further than five yards. I have trouble hitting targets _under_ five-hundred yards with the sniper rifle.

It isn't for lack of trying that my aim hasn't improved, either. I've logged in so many hours, Miranda tells me I _should_ be drilling people in the eyes from fifty yards with a pistol. I just... don't know what's wrong with me.

-Well...-

_/Hush, you. I meant in regards to my shooting./_

Miranda is next to me, as per usual. My stance is perfect, as usual. My shot goes wide, as usual.

Hm... The 'as usual' is not so bad. Too bad Lawson's so completely Cerberus. Not that Cerberus' stated agenda is wrong, per se, but I think most people will agree that their methods leave a lot to be desired. Miranda herself is kept in the dark about a lot of things, I believe.

After all, I don't believe she condones experimenting on children.

_/Speaking of what she condones, I don't believe she'd appreciate what the Reapers do.../_

-I don't know about that. She seems the type who'd let the whole world burn under the right circumstances. Also, without Shepard to convince her that TIMmy is a bad man...-

_/Eh? Why do we have to wait for Shep? Let's convince her ourselves!/_

{... Wait, did I just refer to myself as a 'we?'}

-Yeah, you did. By the way, I call the codename 'Shadow.'-

_/Ah, then I get to be Lies!/_

{Wait! What the f-?!}

I inhale sharply through pursed lips and hold the breath deep in my gut, letting my sudden burst of rage calm from an explosion into embers. It's something I've had to do a lot in the last six years, and every encounter with Hojo makes me need to do it more frequently. I can't say I'm proud of being a ticking time bomb, but I can control it until the battlefield.

How peculiar is it that I want to return to the battlefield? I swear, I've become a walking mass of contradicting feelings. I don't like it.

-Still, I suppose it's better than going back to the [time without emotions/zero/**endless**/Dark of the Zone,] isn't it?-

{Shut up shut shut up shut up! There's no point in thinking about that right now! This is a new life! I won't be like that anymore! I'm going to live passionately!}

-Screw you too, Flames. Don't reject your Shadow when you make it bigger just because it's ugly.-

... Shit. My mind is running rampant on me. Back then, I at least had control over my own mind.

"What is it?" Lawson cuts in sharply. "Why have you stopped shooting?"

_/Oo! My turn, my turn!/_

{Shut up, you. You're going to make the Reader confused if you keep interrupting. Plus, if Shadow is my reclusive, unfeeling objectivity, then you'll be needed later. I also don't need you lying to me at the moment.}

_/No I-/_

{Shut up! I'll figure out when the voices in my head stopped just being me talking to myself later!}

_/... Okay./_

-If you say so, Flames.-

I sigh and turn to face Miss Perfection. "Miranda, let's face it. I'm just not that great with guns. Out of respect for your inner strength I've worked hard on this for the past while, but now it's just cutting into time I could be using for something more immediately useful."

Technically true. Martial arts training requires a lot of hours of practice, and I've put most of my training in the past six years into it. It's only natural that I'd spend more time on more martial arts to increase my already high proficiency. Plus, I seem to actually be somewhat talented at it.

I'd say I'm talented at R&D, but none of that skill is actually mine. Between my resources, the Demon's Library, and my augmented mental capabilities, I can't say I'm that great at all. Even now, there are still so many people smarter than me.

_/Should we attribute that to this era being a modified TL 11, or just having to deal with some the best humanity has to offer on a daily basis?/_

-Any Reader that might be out there likely won't get GURPS jokes, idiot.-

{Can it, both of you! You're messing up the pacing!}

-Is anyone even reading this? You're not helping yourself by doing this, you know.-

{Grrr! Talk later!}

Miranda eyes me analytically, as she always does when I try to talk her down from something. Perhaps it isn't surprising that she usually just tosses aside my concerns, especially since that time I requested resources to build a Gundam, but the girl needs to figure out that she can't... can't...

_/Can't what? What are you even talking about? She can do whatever the heck she wants./_

{I'm concerned about her. I mean, this isn't a game-}

_/Yes it is./_

{In another reality, sure. Here, though... this _is_ reality. This is _real life._ Real life tends to throw shit at you that.. well, most would prefer not to deal with. Real life is chaotic. Real life is dangerous. Regardless of how awesome she is, she could still get herself killed because this is _real life.}_

_/And of all the people you have to worry about, it just has to be the one most likely to survive. Great. Ugh, I don't need to deal with this./_

Lawson opens her mouth to speak...

* * *

Huh...? Why am I in my room? Wasn't I just at the firing range? Why am I painting my nails pink? I hate wearing pi-!? I can't move my body! What's going on? Shit, did Cerberus activate a control chip I didn't know about? What-

-Oh, that? Lies decided to take over for a bit. Forcibly.

{That... Huh? Since when could that happen? Why did I blank out?}

-Mental floundering won't help you, Flames.-

{Oi, why do you keep calling me that?}

-Because ***** ****** is made of Fire, Shadows, and Lies. You are Fire.-

{... I suppose that makes sense. You and Lies are alternate personalities, then. When did I snap? Wouldn't I have noticed, or made a big fuss?}

Some might find it amusing that I am only now worrying about how insane I am, or that I am only now considering myself to have right and properly snapped. To those 'some,' I kindly ask that you go screw yourselves. I'm busy arguing with the voices in my head.

-You have been under considerable stress. I formed about three and half months ago.-

{Back when I figured out that I enjoy fighting.}

... Hm, it seems I need to figure out how to mark my own thoughts, since Shadow is -Underlined- and Lies is /_Italics._/

-Yes. I have been working to prevent our mind from collapsing entirely, and to make the next division as clean and painless as possible.-

{The next division? Oh, you mean Lies?}

-No. Lies has been around since your first kill. You just happen to be pretty good at lying to yourself.-

{Yeah, guess so. ... So, I guess you know a lot about my... our inner workings. Explain.}

-Explain what?-

{Everything you can.}

-Hrm... that might take a while...-

Please don't be a smart ass right now.

-Hm. All right, then I'll start with myself, Shadow. I am the you from the time you call the Dark of the Zone. It was a time when you were hurting emotionally, and considered all of your emotions to be false due to how quickly they faded. You gave up on your emotions and took refuge in objectivity, truth, and the understanding of others. This is when you were most mentally capable.-

{Yeah, I remember that. Along with all the other stupid shit I've done all my life.}

-Yes. Of course you do, you never let it go.-

{...}

-In any case, you eventually rejected me for the same reason you embraced me. You wanted to 'feel' more passionately, but had no idea how. When you and I were the same, we had outsider tendencies. To maintain objectivity and an uncolored vision capable of understanding the truth of things, whether they be matters of bodily, mental, or heart-like existence, we distanced myself from others.-

{... Which I, in the end, couldn't take. I wanted someone to hold me, to make me less lonely.}

-Yes.-

{So why are you here now, if- Damn it! Lies, stop playing with make-up if you aren't practicing it for disguises!}

-She can't hear you. She's actively blocking us.-

{What? How?}

-By pretending we don't exist. Which brings me to Lies. If I am who you were at your most mentally capable, she is who you were at your most socially capable. That is to say, she is the manipulator you strove to become, willing to string along anyone and everyone for your own goals.-

{Er... I don't suppose that was a good idea, was it?}

-You were searching for yourself. You're still searching, but at least you're making progress. In any case, I believe she and I are opposites. The basis of my operation is 'emotionless truth,' and hers is 'false emotion manipulation.' She is the best at lying between the current pieces of you, and is the type to manipulate someone for their own good... like you loved to do, during that time.-

{It was still wrong.}

-You've been wrong plenty of times. You'll be wrong some more. Regardless of that, Lies came about because you wanted to be lied to. You wanted to believe that everything will be all right. Considering that when you and Lies were one, you were considered Mr. Sunshine...-

{... I see. Then I suppose what I've been wanting for a while now is 'truth?'}

-Yes. It is why I'm here.-

{Well, if trauma is going to reveal parts of myself that I'd rather just disappear into oblivion, I might as well off myself now.}

-You don't mean that. You promised Her.-

{I know that! I said it out of frustration! I mean, just what am I supposed to do? I don't have control over my own mind, my own body, my own _life.}_

_/... Hey, did you know that you've been typing your thoughts up in your omni-tool's text program?/_

{Yes, I- Wait, what? Really? I thought I was just writing in my head.}

_/Yeah. There are some pretty extensive logs here. I wonder how many have been converted into chapters for the Reader?/_

-As far as I can discern, there is no Reader.-

{That's not the poi-}

_/You can't prove there isn't./_

-That argument is a fallacy, and doesn't hold. In this instance, we merely hold differences of opinion due to a lack of facts.-

{Grr! Shut up! Also, Lies! Gimme back control of my body!}

_/Eh? You mean _my_ body? I mean, I am you, after all./_

{*&#(*$&( *! ^ %#^&$*!&#$!$ $#&^!*()!}

-Huh. I was unaware that Flames could be reduced to gibberish spewing rage so easily.-

_/Well, since Fire is berserking about the room at the moment, may I ask what you've been doing with the extranet? You've been accessing it almost constantly for the past few months./_

-Does it matter?-

_/Aww, you don't trust me~?/_

-No. Not really.-

_/Hrm, that sucks. You're really going to hurt my feelings, at this rate! :*( /_

-You are as emotionless as I.-

_/Ah ha ha! You got me~! X3 ... So tell me, what's the 'truth' you've been concealing from Flamey? 'Shadows' are gateways to darkness, and darkness blurs all lines. What is it in the infinite knowledge of all encompassing darkness that you're hiding?/_

-... It is as you say, 'darkness' blurs lines. Between concepts, facts, places, people... darkness is extremely broad-minded. It takes all and accepts all, but having one's lines so blurred can make it easy to lose track of 'oneself.' It is light that allows for the differentiating of one thing from another, even as it allows for isolation, xenophobia, and prejudice.-

_/Aha! So the thing you're keeping from him isn't that he is not 'evil,' but that he is still not his true self, correct?/_

-I have no inclination to answer you further.-

_/Ha ha ha~ Well, that's fine too. We all help in our own ways./_

-I fail to see how lying to yourself helps.-

_/Ha ha ha ha~ You'll see~/_

* * *

I can hear them whispering in the back of my head, but I can't focus on them. I'm guessing that that's something Lies does. I can't access certain functions of my omni-tool, but I guess that's fine. I was never that great with in in the first place.

I'm more concerned about what I'm going to tell Miranda. I mean, after getting set of by Lies, I sort of tore up my room in a fit of uncontrolled rage. I guess that I am 'Fire,' and my specialty lies in the... heart? Maybe not, but getting heated seemed to get control of my body back. Rage is an emotion, and emotions come from the heart.

{Except lust, that horny bastard.}

Anyway, my room doesn't look that great. Even worse, my favorite chair is a pile of junk now! I have to do something about this so that I don't get taken off the Deep Cover mission, but I really don't know what.

{Guh... this is bad. It seems that, despite my efforts, I am still spiraling deep into madness. Though, if they break off, if other personalities form, do I become more stable? No, wait, I can't think about that. I'll worry about it, and then I'll not be able to stop thinking about stability and instabil- No.}

"Damn it!" I snarl, punching the remnants of my bed hard enough to blow the pile of pieces about the room.

{I'm talking- writing to the Reader again, as well. Is that good or bad? Was I just embracing madness further by doing that? Does it help stab- No. I shouldn't think about that. I need to... to just... I don't know. Something. This is... No, I am- This- I- help- wrong!- wait, I- please- sleep- where am- don't understand- help me, E**-

...

!}

"Gaaaaaaaahhh!" Flames screeches, crying out in pain and sorrow. Though, I really believe it's her own fault for getting so close to those two in the first place.

Now he has to stand without either of them, the only two he ever fully trusted, and will not allow himself to trust again. I wonder who it will take to get him to share himself with another? Really... internalizing it all, lying to oneself, purposely talking to oneself... it really is no surprise Flames has been falling into insanity. If anything it is more surprising that it isn't far worse.

Perhaps it is cruel, brushing him off and writing in his place. Still, who could better chronicle the truth at this time? I certainly wouldn't ask Lies to do it.

Flames does not begin smashing things again, though she badly wants to. She merely drops to her knees, limp, and starts crying. Wailing, with tears streaming down her face. If I could truly feel, I would hope this helps her.

She hasn't cried once in almost a year. Considering what she has gone through, this is not healthy. I did not suspect she would crash so rapidly, but I suppose not all things are predictable. Still, she will be better off when she is done crying.

Hm... I think I'll use this time to clarify something that may confuse anyone who reads these texts in the future. First of all, it isn't difficult to notice the odd text within the brackets. The thing about those is that each set words in the brackets are being thought at the same time. The bolded one is the overlying thought that Flames actually pays attention to. The others are whispers of varying volume in the background.

The logs which Flames have written can only be edited by me. In case you are wondering whether I have already altered some of it, the answer is that I have. I have altered some of the punctuation and grouping problems, to lessen confusion as to who is speaking or thinking. There are some things that are better left unknown, so I deleted the scene where Lies took control. It might not be safe for Miranda if that information leaked somehow.

Ah... Flames... er, no... Kei is falling asleep. If I could work while Kei slept, that would be great, but I cannot. While fragmented, we are still the same mind, and Fl- Kei is closest to the True Self. So, when... (yawn) Kei rests, so do the rest of us.

Hm... how unfortunate.

* * *

I woke this morning to find my room completely trashed. It made me mad. I know it was my fault, and that made me more mad.

Then I remembered that Lies had taken control of my body while Miranda was talking to me. It made me even more mad, and I've been absolutely livid ever since. I've already cleared out my room and ordered a new bed, which I am now laying on.

{Did I mention that I am very, very angry right now? I swear, if Chris shows up, I may just end up killing the son of a-}

A ring from my omni-tool distracts me. I grumble about being interrupted, but I still raise my hand and press the soft spot behind my earlobe to answer the call. It is a blatant rip-off of Solid Snake answering his Codec, of course, but it isn't like it's a bad way to operate.

Omni-tools don't really _need_ to light up if you know where all the buttons are. My omni-tool is made of nanites within my body. It was fairly easy to set up a shortcut button in a certain spot of skin.

Finally, Solid Snake is The Man when it comes to stealth. Even with the ridiculousness of the cardboard box. If it is within my power to emulate him, then why the hell wouldn't I?

"Yeah, what is it?" I grumble venomously.

"Just thought you'd like to know you were right," Miranda says, completely unfazed by the acidic tone I had just used. "Pragia Base has been experimenting on children. I think it is safe to say they've gone rogue."

They haven't gone rogue, but Miranda isn't going to give me my chance at freedom if I try to tell her TIM has actually been allowing that. I'd tell her about the experiments being done on our own Echidna Base, but The Illusive Man may decide she is too much of a flight risk if she comes to learn too much. Either that, or she'll come to accept this kind of thing, and who knows if even Shepard could break her away from Cerberus then.

"Get to hangar bay 14. You're going on a mission. Objective is to secure the research data, free the children, and kill all rogue personnel. Leave no trace you were ever there. This is a solo mission. You have seven days."

The call ends before I can respond. Not that I would have refused in the first place. This mission is going to let me do something I've wanted to do for a long time. That is, I'll finally be getting to help people.

{Lies?}

_/Hm? Yes, Milord?/_

{Cut that out. I'm guessing you set this up when you took control?}

_/Mayhaps./_

{… Thanks.}

_/Of course~/_

* * *

**A/N: So, what did you think? Don't be afraid to review! If I did something wrong, I need to know so I can fix it! X3**

**Just so you all know, the inconsistency for the male and female pronouns when Cheung refers to herself is on purpose.**

**Also, sorry for the cliffhanger. I just had to try making one for myself, you know? XD**

**Uh... erm... Yeah. That is all.**

**-Maxxus Herald**


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